


bridge over troubled waters

by moonlitpyre



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Court Politics, F/M, Minor Background Relationships, Politics, Slow Burn, Uncovered Secrets, epidemic, eventual mutual pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitpyre/pseuds/moonlitpyre
Summary: It hadn’t been an outright implication--several members of the court would make whispers to one another, but no one had spoken their minds on the subject of Dimitri’s age until the lands of Charon demanded bread. Dimitri had come of age only two years prior, and a small celebration had been held at the capital so as not to waste any more resources than were necessary. Lord Lonato had once mentioned how Dimitri should soon marry for gold—in fair amounts so as to settle any tensions with the Gaspard lands. Dimitri had chuckled at the implication, but the look in Rodrigue’s eyes had told him to take it into consideration.It wasn’t long before Rodrigue had spoken to his father, had settled onto an agreement with the archbishop and the scattered deacons she kept around in the monastery.[With the Kingdom of Faerghus falling to the brink of chaos, and an epidemic spreading through the southern lands, it is up to Prince Dimitri to lift the spirits of his country--all with the promise of a noble lady's hand.]
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 30
Kudos: 69





	1. under a horsebow moon

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse for this other than self indulgence. The idea first came to me as I toyed with the concept of Byleth working as a spy within the walls of Fhirdiad's castle.
> 
> The story follows most of what we know about Faerghus' history, however, it all happens at a different timeline, when Dimitri's already 23. Because of this, it is important that I warn you about the story heavily following the epidemic that took over Faerghus earlier in King Lambert's reign. I know the subject may be difficult to read with our current pandemic, so if such things make you uncomfortable, I advise you to please stop reading.
> 
> Needless to say, this is an alternate universe where the Tragedy of Duscur did not take place, and so King Lambert is still alive.
> 
> Many thanks to my friends Crystal and Niky who helped me beta-read this
> 
> CW: mentions and discussion of an epidemic

The air was cold as a young man travelled from the west of Rowe territory towards the little village built upon a parish that led to the Western Church. It was barely the beginning of a Horsebow Moon, trees had begun to lose their colour and settle into parchments of orange and brown hues—but colder seasons in Faerghus were unforgiving, and soon enough the chilly air began to fill his lungs.

A very important letter laid hidden in his left hand, an essential message from Rowe’s deacon to the caretaker of the village. He had been instructed to deliver it with utmost care, for if it fell in wrong hands, the southern territories would erupt in fitful chaos, and more disease would spread across the land. The young man, lacking a horse, took a beautiful mare from Count Rowe’s stables—a horse that, although not the most graceful, was certainly faster than the rest.

It didn’t take longer than half a day to arrive at his destination—Rowe’s territory was, after all, not among the largest in Faerghus. The village was rather picturesque, people crossing down their paths with a smile on their face, and the last, unwilted flowers hanging from their hair. The young man looked at them with pity, a frown slowly tilting across his lips. He forced himself to look away, to ignore the cheerful greetings from young men and women that came his way. 

The parish he had looked for was right at the outskirts of the village, with long, formidable trees and broad rose bushes circling around it. Roses were rather uncommon in Faerghus, a delicacy that grew only in the south. The cold winters in Fhirdiad would not allow them to bloom in the snow, but it was in House Rowe tradition to grow them and send them as a gift to the Queen—a custom that had been broken with the passing of the years.

The young man knocked on the door at the entrance of the parish, his hands sweating from holding onto the letter and the anticipation that came with delivering utmost terrible news. He awaited an answer, humming patiently as leaves fell into the ground, until an old man’s white head peeked from behind the door. The old man couldn’t have been that much older than Rowe’s deacon, a tall and slender man with a few wrinkles adorning his eyes. He greeted the young man with a kind smile, and upon coming in contact with the chilly weather, he ushered the man inside with haste.

“You must be quite determined to find me if you’d willingly put yourself under such weather,” the old man said. He moved towards the small fire he had created with reason magic—a talent only shared by those who had gone under the tutelage of Faerghus’ School of Sorcery--and motioned for the young man to follow him. The parish, as well as the village itself, was small but rather quaint, with beautifully crafted pews, and a painting of the goddess centred right behind the altar. 

“If you don’t find warmer clothes, I’m afraid you shall catch a cold. I may have an elixir somewhere in my pantry to prevent such a thing from happening, if you would be so patient.”

“I’m afraid a cold is the least of my worries,” the young man admitted, and handed over the letter for the old man to take. 

The old man inspected it, his forehead wrinkling as he looked over the seal that had decorated it. He took one look at the goddess’ painting before his eyes locked with the young man’s once more. “Tell me,” he asked, voice tilting with worry, “what could have possibly happened to make the deacon send a letter to me? Has the disease reached Rowe territory now as well?”

The young man nodded, a frown settling upon his lips. “He asked that you carry on your duties as a healer for the people in this village. The disease has begun to grow already in the north, and it is possible that merchants already carry it with them.”

The old man nodded, a knot promptly forming in his throat. “Very well then,” he said and looked upon the sky to seek the Goddess. “Very well then.”

* * *

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd was a rather clumsy young man. He was tall and broad, and his strength much bigger than any man his age could ever hope to handle. It was in his Blaiddyd blood—his father had claimed--how easily he could break a glass with a touch of his finger and bend an iron sword until it broke into two. His father had once been the same, but with the passing of years, he took control of his power, and carried himself with the poise expected from a king. Such thing could not be said about Dimitri however, for the young prince had grown well into his twenties, with no hope of having as much grace as that of his father’s.

Dimitri would often be found at the stables, feeding horses or riding into the twilight until lethargy took over his body. Other times he could be found between the training grounds, fixing a lance or wearing himself out by fighting against a dummy. Rarely would he ever visit the library, his fear of accidentally tearing apart the pages of a most precious relic always in the back of his mind. He liked to read of course, having grown up with all sorts of stories about gallant knights and resplendent heroes, all so prevalent in Faerghan tradition. But he didn’t like to disappoint his father, to walk into his chambers all to solely inform him of another thing he had broken—not when his father would look so crestfallen.

The library was one of the grandest places in the castle, every corner replete with books of all sizes and colours. There were old tomes of magic, ancient history, and even a few little volumes on horses and religion. There was a grand staircase right before the middle that led towards an astronomy tower—a place Dimitri had been profoundly fond of in his infancy, and perhaps still would be, were it not for his lack of discipline towards the art.

He was careful as he took a newly found book from the shelf, a relic his father had acquired from his travels through Adrestia. It wasn’t often that King Lambert left the country—to be true, the very thought evaded him as the state of Faerghus was certainly close enough to fall into an outright upheaval. But there were certain matters about Dimitri’s stepmother that needed to be handled, and with a hand to his chest and a heaviness or heart, Lambert had departed for a few months as Dimitri and Lord Rodrigue took the handle.

The book was full of legends, myths and the like. It had spoken stories of the Goddess, Lady Seiros and the Goddess’ children, all of whom had once inhabited Fódlan, lived in peace and thrived in the lands. They were fantastical stories, fables that made Dimitri raise a brow, but he liked them in his loneliness—enjoyed them every once in a while. 

A creaking noise brought him back from his stupor, the sound of heels coming from nearby. He raised his eyes to meet this newfound intruder, and came to view with the sight of a lovely young woman, not too much older than himself. She had long minty locks, the colour so soft it made Dimitri tilt his head to simply admire it—and her eyes, two emeralds as bright and wide as his. He noticed a few strands of her hair were in disarray, twigs and leaves hanging from it. Her clothes, although not seemingly expensive, had fallen in dirt too, making a small, amused smile form on Dimitri’s lips.

“Pardon me,” Dimitri said bewildered, “I’m afraid I don’t recognise you. I should have known someone would be here, otherwise I would have excused myself into my chambers.”

The young woman shook her head, a small, amused smile of her own taking place upon her rosy lips. “No, I must be the one to excuse herself. I ought to have known the place would have been occupied, I believe this is your home, if I’m correct. I should make my way out, and leave you at peace.”

Dimitri quickly stood up, his armoured hands shifting to brush her wrist. He flinched at his own zeal, the look upon her face making him fidget with the hem of his tunic. There was something about her eyes, deep and green, that made Dimitri feel as though she was looking right through his soul. “No, that won’t be necessary,” he said gently, his hands twitching far from her own. “If you do not mind my presence while you read, then I’ll make certain not to interrupt you. I shan’t be here for long, in any case, so my interruptions will be short and kept to a minimum.”

The young woman chuckled then, softly, but loudly enough for Dimitri to hear. She promptly nodded, and took a seat beside Dimitri, who followed her and settled the book he’d been reading back into his hands. He wasn’t certain who this young woman was, whether she was a new servant, a stable girl, or a friend of Lady Cornelia’s; how long had she been in the castle before he could take notice, and the reasoning behind her visit to the castle’s library--all he could discern was a certain something about her, something that put him at ease and unnerved him altogether. He could only hope to realise who she was before he parted.

“I shan’t be here for too long either,” she admitted, her voice rather more monotonous from what he’d expected. He noticed the small book in her hands, a simple guide on swords and blades from Faerghus—the first book he had ever been taken upon to read. It would make sense for her to be interested in swordsmanship with the state of her clothes and hair, the twigs that still hung from it peeking between each lock. His childhood friend Ingrid was all the similar, often walking into the castle with mud covering her knees, and leaves of every colour dropping from her golden hair. “To be true, I’ve had quite a long day, and I’m afraid it shall only be longer; but I wanted to take a short moment to read, away from all such troubles. I’d been told I could find the library through these halls, it never occurred to me someone else would be here. A silly mistake, of course.”

Dimitri shook his head and smiled cordially. “Not at all. Everyone is always welcome here, at all hours,” he said, then motioned to the small book in her hands. “I see you’re interested in swordsmanship. Are you perhaps a fighter? There is a training ground in the west wing of the castle, if you ever wish to cross blades with other fighters.”

The young woman’s eyes widened before she promptly nodded. “Thank you, I’ll take it into account,” she said softly, “I was taught to fight from a very young age, and have always taken a liking for swords as my chosen weapon. However, I’m certain there are many blades I haven’t the luck to be acquainted with, and while I’ve grown up for the most part in Faerghus, there were many swords my father owned that I never got the chance to learn their name—one in particular that fascinated us both. When I saw the book I thought perhaps I could finally have my answer.”

Dimitri tilted his head with interest then, his eyes curiously roaming through the page she had selected. There were a few blades illustrated in it—a broadsword and a rapier that had once been crafted for King Loog and his lionguards. They had been engraved with the finest details, golden ivys and the harvestbells that had come to symbolise the royal family. “Do you have a vague idea of what the sword might have looked like? I could help you find it, if it’s your desire. I may not be an expert with swords as they’re not my favoured weapon, but I’ve studied this book before, and I’ve always been quite taken by exemplary blades.”

The young woman hummed in response, her eyes studying the book in her hands with utmost care. He noticed she’d been carrying no gloves, and a few little scars graced her otherwise delicate skin. It interested him to learn whatever story may be behind these marks, what could have possibly interested her so much about this sword she seemed to search so diligently—but he feared he had no time, and he was yet to discover whatever reason had brought her to this castle in the first place.

“It was quite long, I believe. Rather similar to a broadsword, with beautiful engravings and a blade that could cut into trees,” she said thoughtfully, her eyes not parting from each page. “There was an odd colour to it, a clear blue like the one in your eyes, that made it seem as though it was made of crystal. I’ve never seen anything like it ever since, and I’m afraid my father never could tell me where he’d left his.”

The words had slipped from her lips simply, her eyes shifting along the pages of the book as she spoke. Dimitri stayed quiet for a moment, meditating the state of her father and the description she had so cordially given to him in an attempt to offer any kind of help. He had heard of such a blade before, of course, it was the sort of sword that was so carefully crafted in the Sacred Mountains, but had not continued to be so for a few centuries. When Dimitri opened his mouth to speak, he found he was unable to formulate a word.

His attention was taken by a pair of footsteps accompanying the halls that hid the library, a pair of boots all too familiar for Dimitri not to recognise. He shifted his gaze to the door, already expecting to be escorted to his chambers to prepare. Lord Rodrigue had been waiting for this day for what appeared to Dimitri as months, the anticipation to become acquainted with his future wife making his stomach coil with nerves rather than bring him any sense of certainty. But Rodrigue was intrigued by the subject, curious to see the relationship develop between the two. He was all the more serious—King Lambert being the romantic of the pair, but the mere idea of Dimitri seeking out a marriage rather bemused him, and he counted every day as though he were counting for his own children’s births.

“I’m afraid I won’t be disturbing you for longer,” Dimitri said quietly. When the young woman turned her gaze towards him, he smiled warmly. “I do hope we shall be meeting again. Perhaps the next time I’ll be able to aid you with this sword you seek.”

The young woman nodded, a hint of a smile gracing her lips. “Oh, your highness, I’m certain we shall meet some other time again.”

Dimitri bowed his head and turned away then, her words filling his head with a thousand questions. He pinched his nose and smiled to himself as he thought of the odd woman, so many things he had meant to inquire, and yet he left the room with almost no answers—only the existence of a father, and his ownership of a relic almost as holy as the king’s.

When he walked outside of the library he noticed Lord Rodrigue already waited for him, an amused smile of his own tugging at the corners of his lips. He had been wearing a fine cloak to protect him from the chilly air, the weather worsening through Fhirdiad with the passing of the days. It didn’t escape Dimitri how elegant he was dressed, the silver embroidery of his tunic covering his chest—flowers of every shape perfectly matching the swirls that decorated his sleeves, and a beautiful little robin to embellish his cloak.

“Have they arrived then?” Dimitri asked, his palms sweating at the expectation of his future wife already walking through these halls.

Lord Rodrigue nodded, his smile unfaltering. “They arrived earlier this afternoon, but you were called for stable duties and we didn’t wish to interrupt. They were rather late, to be true, we’d expected their arrival to take place much earlier. Your father had set up an entire caravan to welcome them, but we agreed to schedule that for tomorrow morning, when they’ve had enough rest after their travels.”

Dimitri nodded--a sensible choice for anyone who’d travelled all the way from Garreg Mach. He couldn’t begin to imagine how tired they must have been. It had been only five years since he’d crossed that path himself for the last time. “And what are they like?” he asked softly. When he realised Rodrigue was openly gaping at him, he cleared his throat. “Do you think them suitable for the future of the country?”

“I believe you’ve already been acquainted with Lady Flayn,” Rodrigue responded, “Her father has a reasonable position in the church, and a union with her could very well secure the support we need to strengthen our lands.”

Dimitri remembered Flayn, how lively and cheerful she always seemed. They had once been classmates when he’d attended the Officer’s Academy, and although they didn’t spend as much time together to build a future relationship, he thought of her as his friend, and a perfectly good companion to study with. “What about the other?”

Rodrigue seemed to have stopped midway, a thumb running across his chin as he meditated on his answer. When he finally settled on a response, Dimitri noticed something troubled in the midst of his blue eyes. “Miss Eisner appears to be quite the young lady. I think you might find her to be the most beautiful—though I highly doubt such things could sway you. She is said to be Lady Flayn’s cousin, but her upbringing seems to be quite the mystery. Many have told us she is a granddaughter to the archbishop herself, others deem her to be the daughter of Sir Jeralt the Blade Breaker, but the reality is that she is rather difficult to track down,” he said thoughtfully. “She appears to be quite interested in sparring and riding, which I believe might catch your attention. But do be careful when treading with her. We can’t know for certain what a union with her might bring, regardless of her connection with the church.”

Dimitri nodded, his stomach twirling with apprehension. To be true, Dimitri didn’t wish to hold onto a marriage were it not for the state of his country, and the desperation in his father’s eyes. Dimitri, although quite the romantic at heart, had never thought himself to pursue such notions, not so far at the very least. He believed in true love, of course, had longed for it since the very moment he had heard his father speak of his birth mother. But while there was a plentiful of ladies he could choose from—young women, talented and beautiful who could very well capture him with their charms--Dimitri hadn’t formed such a connection with anyone in the length of his life.

There had been few infatuations, of course—a sweet, gentle voice, and baby blue locks that swayed with the wind. Dimitri, although rather dense in matters of the heart, wasn’t entirely a stranger to that which made a chest warm. Nevertheless, he sought more than fleeting moments and a love that would only last as long as he were stuck behind his studies; and with the responsibilities that came with being the heir to a kingdom, soon enough Dimitri realised he hadn’t the time to form such a connection, and settled with the idea of finding love only if the Goddess would be kind enough to grant him such luck.

But upon his return to Fhirdiad, and the death of his stepmother, Dimitri found himself at odds. Although his father could very well remarry, the looks he often shared with Rodrigue in his most languid days told him such things were not his notion any longer. He’d been married already too much, had placed his heart on his sleeve for far too long, and he deserved to be happy, much as anyone did. 

It hadn’t been an outright implication--several members of the court would make whispers to one another-- but no one had spoken their minds on the subject of Dimitri’s age until the lands of Charon demanded bread. Dimitri had come of age only two years prior, and a small celebration had been held at the capital so as not to waste any more resources than were necessary. Lord Lonato had once mentioned how Dimitri should soon marry for gold—in fair amounts so as to settle any tensions with the Gaspard lands. Dimitri had chuckled at the implication, but the look in Rodrigue’s eyes had told him to take it into consideration. 

It wasn’t long before Rodrigue had spoken to his father, had settled onto an agreement with the archbishop and the scattered deacons she kept around in the monastery. They had been reluctant about it at first, of course, but something made them change their minds along the way, and soon enough a letter addressed to Dimitri was sent in the gentle hope of a connection. Dimitri had been deeply unsettled by the idea in the beginning, having no qualms of marrying someone he didn’t love and disappointing the lady in response—but upon seeing the bright, relieved smile that had settled upon his father’s lips, Dimitri threw away any sort of negative thoughts.

The walk towards his chambers was quiet, Dimitri too immersed in his thoughts to ask any further questions, and Rodrigue—although rather amused—too concerned about the nervous demeanour Dimitri portrayed to tease him any further. The prince’s rooms were not too far from the library, the ancestors that had built such a magnificent castle all too interested in having their chambers a few footsteps from the areas of study and training. Dimitri rather liked the idea as he’d grown up, finding himself running from hall to hall with a plentiful of things to do with his day; but now as he marched down the halls that welcomed his room, he found himself wishing he had gotten more time to prepare.

Rodrigue smiled as Dimitri finally settled into his quarters, a hand guiding him towards the garments that had been carefully crafted for the occasion. There was a blue tunic Dimitri had never seen before, with golden embroidery that strongly resembled a lion, and swirls that perfectly adorned his collar and sleeves. Dimitri noticed a newly crafted cloak hiding beneath the tunic, the unmistakable hint of black fur elegantly embellishing it. Dimitri took hold of his new robes, his hands promptly hovering over his embroidered new boots, and smiled slightly.

“You didn’t have to go so far to get these, my friend,” he said warmly. “But nevermind what I say, I heartily appreciate the gesture.”

“Your father and I want you to look your finest as you welcome these fine ladies into the capital,” Rodrigue responded, “Perhaps you might see these new robes as something unnecessary, but I wasn’t to allow you to walk into such an exceptional dinner wearing that old and wasted tunic of yours. We want you to charm these ladies.”

Dimitri laughed, albeit rather quietly. “Thank you, my friend. I really do mean it.”

“Of course.” Lord Rodrigue returned his smile. “Now please, change into your new garments. I’ll be waiting for you outside. There is, after all, a dinner we ought to attend.”

Dimitri sighed and waved for Rodrigue to step outside. When he took hold of his newly acquired tunic, a now familiar twirl of tension settled into his stomach.

* * *

The halls that permeated the castle had all been carefully decorated with blue flowers and long banners of Faerghus to welcome both of the ladies in a more proper manner. There were small, glass ornaments delicately placed on every table—some figurines of past kings and fair maidens that had once inhabited the fortress. Dimitri had once thought of them as sculptures made of ice, and when he was little he promised his father he’d sculpt one in the midst of a winter to complement the one he loved the most.

A fine feast had been settled in the dining hall, plates of every kind and flavour had been delicately placed across the table. Dimitri’s eyes quickly shifted onto the sweet buns that were kept in between every other dish, and he had to stop himself from walking on and grabbing one for himself. When the motion was made for the two acclaimed guests to arrive, Dimitri straightened up his spine and shifted his gaze from the food towards the entrance to the hall.

The two young ladies that walked in were rather striking. He had been acquainted with Flayn before, but half a decade had passed ever since, and he couldn’t deny that the young woman he’d once known had gotten slightly taller—if not, at the very least, she appeared to have grown. Her hair was stylised in a most intricate braid, and had been adorned with small camellias the colour of her dress. She smiled to Dimitri courteously, her hands holding onto her garment as she made a curtsy. But such virtuous signs of display had not been what had caught Dimitri’s attention, but rather, the beautiful, young woman that stood beside her.

Her hair had been done into a simple tie up, strands of hair falling from the sides before her ears. There was a blue columbine laying between her left ear and a stray, green lock that coloured her neck. Her dress, though simple, was not as modest, and it took only one gaze for Dimitri to realise how perfectly well it fitted her body. When she locked eyes with Dimitri, a knot quickly formed in his throat.

“Lady Flayn and Miss Eisner, what a pleasure it is to have you accompany us to this dinner,” King Lambert announced with a pleasant smile. He walked over to greet both the ladies, and bowed his head as a means of acknowledgement. The two ladies curtsied in response—albeit rather clumsily from the latter’s end.

“Oh, the pleasure is all ours,” Flayn responded warmly, her familiar voice bringing a smile to Dimitri’s face. “I’ve been longing to come to Fhirdiad ever since Dimitri told me about it all the years back at the Officer’s Academy.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lady Flayn,” Dimitri spoke finally. He bowed his head to greet both ladies, and promptly turned his gaze away when Miss Eisner locked eyes with him. “I trust your father is in good health.” 

Lady Flayn nodded, her smile turning into a wide grin. “Oh, he is. Perhaps not very pleased upon my departure quite so far away from him, but I’m certain he shall manage on his own for a few weeks,” she responded. “He intends to follow us towards the last few days of our trip, but I’m sure he’ll cause no trouble. There were matters he intended to discuss with Lady Rhea before he could be with us again.”

“Oh, excellent,” Dimitri replied. “We shall make sure to attend him as well as possible. It’s not often we receive quite so many guest from outside Faerghus, and we shall be prepared for the occasion.”

Dimitri turned his gaze towards Rodrigue who had been smiling proudly at him throughout the entire exchange. They each took a seat at the table, gazes turning from every dish that had been served to the sweet buns Dimitri had so longingly admired. There was of course, the gaze of Miss Eisner who would often fleetingly look at him, her piercing green eyes intimidating and alluring him altogether. She looked so different now than she had earlier in the day, when he’d spoken to her so freely without realising this was one of the young women he was meant to be courting. Somehow that entire conversation had taken a rather broken turn.

“Miss Eisner, have you ever been to Faerghus before?” King Lambert asked, interrupting Dimitri’s thoughts. Lionguards had walked into the hall to begin serving the feast. Miss Eisner, who had been rather busy staring at the fish sauté, turned her attention towards him and smiled slightly.

“Yes, your majesty, indeed I’ve actually grown up here,” she responded cordially, her voice monotonous as it had been before. “My father was Faerghan, and though he preferred his travels, he always had that certain pride for his homeland.”

The king nodded in response, an interested smile spreading across his lips. “How very intriguing,” he said. “Had I known you were of Faerghan blood, I would have made sure to invite you much sooner. There had once been a noble family here with the name Eisner. They had served the noble family as lionguards and swordsmiths, and lived up in the sacred mountains, but they disappeared a few centuries ago. My great grandfather tried to track them down, but with no such luck—not that he could prove at the very least.”

Miss Eisner nodded in response, a solemn expression lingering in her eyes. Dimitri thought to ask about the sword she had been seeking earlier, and its indisputable connection with the sacred mountains, but he chose not to press the matter further. He watched quietly as she fervently began to eat her dinner, her eyes lighting up as she took a taste of each dish. There was something rather curious about the young woman—something different that Dimitri intended to discern; but as her solemn expression changed into that of pure bliss, Dimitri could only bring himself to watch.

They continued eating dinner rather quietly, Rodrigue and Lambert sharing glances every once in a while. Dimitri was well aware of their gazes every so often falling on him, studying his every reaction to both of the ladies, and expecting him to carry on a conversation with each of their own. Dimitri was well aware of Rodrigue’s and possibly the court’s desire for him to court the fair Lady Flayn, the young woman posing a perfectly good opportunity for the bond between the kingdom and the church to strengthen. Dimitri, although not certain such was the kind of relationship he intended to have with the young lady, wasn’t entirely against it, for he was already well acquainted with her and even went so far as to consider her his friend. Miss Eisner, on the other hand, was a veritable mystery to him.

“Have you been to Fhirdiad before then?” Dimitri asked after taking a bite of his fish sauté. His hands hesitantly hovered over the table to take ahold of a sweet bun, and felt his cheeks colour when Miss Eisner and Lady Flayn stifled a giggle.

“I have not,” Miss Eisner shook her head. “My father mostly kept to the territories in the south, favouring the warmer weathers when I was a child. But I am truly pleased to have gotten a chance to do so now. My grandmother often spoke of the splendor in this city, and I dearly longed to see it for myself. Because of my father I’ve always quite enjoyed travelling.”

“Well, I do certainly hope the city lives up to your expectations,” Dimitri concurred. “Say, why don’t you and Lady Flayn accompany me to the city one of these days? There are several things that you might like. Have you any more interests? You’ve mentioned swordsmanship when we met earlier before.” 

Lord Rodrigue lifted his gaze from his plate to the young prince in an expression of utter confusion. Dimitri offered him a half smile and continued. “I had the pleasure of encountering Miss Eisner at the library earlier in the afternoon. Had I known she was a special guest I would have welcomed her more properly, but to be true, I had not the slightest idea, and I was made to flee the place before I could ask for her name.”

Miss Eisner shook her head, an amused smile quickly forming on her lips. “Nonsense, you were very kind and welcoming, your highness. Not many nobles take the moment to attend to a stranger, let alone the royal family,” she countered. “And regarding your question, indeed I do have several interests, but mostly I rather enjoy fishing and riding, as well as swordsmanship, of course—although that, you already know.”

Dimitri smiled brightly, his chest heaving with elation. He took a bite of his sweet bun and looked away as his father and Rodrigue each shared a look. Although there were plenty of things about Miss Eisner he was yet to figure out, he found himself rather thrilled by their conversation, anticipating the prospect of riding alongside her--perhaps to hunt or simply for its enjoyment. He was certain she’d be willing to train with him as well, and was curious to see the kind of skill she had. She wanted to hear of her travels, all the things he was yet to see, and he looked forward to making a new friend.

“Fishing, huh? I have to admit I didn’t take you for the sort of lady,” he said after taking another bite of his bun. An amused smile spread across Lady Flayn’s lips when Miss Eisner took a bun of her own, her eyes sparking with sudden interest. “One of the gardens at the castle has a small pond we could visit. There aren’t plenty of fish, of course, but perhaps if you ladies stay for longer, we could settle a visit towards the Lake Teutates and spend an evening there.”

Miss Eisner took a bite of her bun and promptly swallowed it. When she realised the entire table had their eyes set on her, King Lambert’s lionguards rather interested by her behaviour, she took a sip of her wine and straightened her back. “Certainly, I would love nothing more.” Then she turned to her cousin. “Lady Flayn too, for she dearly loves fish.”

Dimitri laughed, the memory of the young woman inviting every member of their class to the monastery’s fishing pond to celebrate her birthday still as vivid as it had been five years prior. She deemed herself as only a young girl back then, with two long braids that fell down to her shoulders. His other friends had been reluctant to attend the rather strange celebration, but soon enough they joined as word of a feast had spread. Dimitri didn’t think he had ever eaten quite as much fish in his life.

“Ah yes, how could I possibly forget?” he asked heartily. When Lady Flayn raised an eyebrow in a challenge, he laughed again, albeit more quietly. “My father and I will make certain you have a chance to properly go fishing. I am not as fond of it as I was never taught as properly as you, but I would like to accompany you.”

King Lambert nodded, a bright smile mirroring all the others. “Indeed, it would be our pleasure to fish with you young ladies. Perhaps you can teach my son a thing or two.”

Lady Flayn giggled, but Dimitri noticed the solemnity that had painted itself in Miss Eisner’s eyes. It seemed to him she was a serious woman in general, her voice monotonous every time she spoke. But there were moments—brief as they were, that he was certain she had smiled at his words, was amused by his statements and eating habits, and had followed along with some surprising ones of her own. 

“Well,” he whispered softly, “it appears we have several plans to follow for the time of your visit. I certainly hope we all deem them enjoyable for the course of your stay.”

The two young ladies nodded, their eyes drifting to the remaining buns on the table. Dimitri hadn’t imagined Miss Eisner would reach out to bring them all to her plate, but it seemed to him the young woman was a pocketful of surprise.

He watched quietly as the young woman continued eating, her back slouching as she hid away from the guards. King Lambert and Rodrigue carried on with their own conversation, short whispers exchanging every now and then. Lady Flayn had taken an interest in Dimitri’s newly grown hair, her fingers pointing at the little bangs that fell to his face. It hadn’t always been a new thing, as his hair had once been as long as his shoulders when he was but an infant; but with the news of his departure to the monastery, Dimitri kept his hair rather short for the time he’d spent there.

Their short conversations carried on pleasantly, each thrilled to have found old interests and new. When Dimitri turned his gaze to look at Miss Eisner, his thoughts were promptly interrupted as another figure walked into the room. 

The young man that had interrupted their dinner was rather familiar, someone Dimitri had come across on a few occasions—King Lambert’s trusted spy, the young man that owed him his life. Although not very tall, he was undoubtedly handsome, or beautiful rather; with long, lilac hair that cascaded all the way to his shoulders. His bright eyes, though mischievous, carried a certain gentleness to them, a softness Dimitri was certain he didn’t share with plenty.

The young man hesitated before he took a step towards their table, his eyes darting to the two young women sitting across from Dimitri with a certain air of curiosity. When they locked eyes, Dimitri could see a small, amused smile across his lips. “Your majesty,” the young man whispered far from the crowd, “there’s a matter of utmost urgency.”

King Lambert raised from his seat and gave the two young ladies an apologetic smile. “Could it wait after dinner? I cannot leave my guests as it is when they’ve only just arrived,” he murmured just as quietly.

But the young man shook his head. “I’m afraid not, your majesty,” the young man responded, his voice lower. “It is about the disease. It has reached Rowe territory, and the estimated Count Rowe has been laying the blame on you.”

King Lambert’s eyes widened, distress clear in his eyes—and without a further moment, he apologised to the ladies and immediately left the room, Lord Rodrigue swiftly following suit.

Dimitri stared at his empty plate for a moment, his eyes shifting to the two ladies every other moment. It hadn’t missed his attention how interested Miss Eisner had suddenly become to the short conversation that had followed the two gentlemen, her head almost tilting as she made an effort to listen to their every word. Dimitri hadn’t thought of what to say or do in their presence, and so after a moment of hesitation, he too bid the young women farewell before he stood up and followed after his father.

The King’s quarters weren’t quite so far from the dining hall, as both were located in the castle’s west wing. There were several hidden gardens that surrounded it, some in which Dimitri had spent plenty of his time playing as a kid. It was indeed his favourite, for there was a small swing where Dimitri would spend his afternoons, hoping to reach up to the sky—where Lady Seiros, Goddess Sothis and his grandfather lived in perpetual happiness. 

His father and Lord Rodrigue were pacing around the room in evident distress. The young man, who had informed the king in the first place, was standing right behind the door, a hand covering his chin as he himself mirrored their very emotion. When he realised Dimitri had walked in, his expression changed into that of interest and amusement.

“How much time do you believe we have before Count Rowe rises against us?” King Lambert asked. He was quite fatigued, Dimitri could easily tell, but he didn’t dare show it, not when there were others around him. It was their Blaiddyd blood.

The young man took a deep breath, his eyes falling to the king’s hands. “I believe it shall depend upon the pace at which the disease might spread,” he said before the two locked eyes again. “If it spreads too soon, Count Rowe might have a word with Lord Lonato sooner than we expect. I’m afraid of what they might do if they join hands together.”

“Not only Lord Lonato, but the Western Church too,” Rodrigue interrupted. “There are many rumours about the bishop working under someone’s name, though I haven’t the chance to learn for myself.”

King Lambert sighed, his fingers lifting to rub his temples. Dimitri was well aware of how tired he had grown over the past few months, every piece of news he had received worsening over the days. Ever since Dimitri’s return to Fhirdiad, King Lambert’s spirits had dropped, and on more than one occasion, he would shrug them off and make a joke about Dimitri taking on his tutelage and governing the kingdom better than he ever would. But Dimitri knew there was a certainty to his words.

It had been implied—as well as his hopes for a marriage, that King Lambert soon wished to retire. It had caused an uproar amongst the court, many and others thinking Dimitri too naïve and immature to take on such a responsibility when his father still held breath. Rodrigue too had joked about it, left his thoughts out in the open when Dimitri took upon his offer of courting one of the church’s ladies, but Dimitri didn’t dare ask.

“It may be wise for you to begin courting one of the young ladies as soon as this week,” King Lambert spoke suddenly. Dimitri looked at his father, taken aback, but he nodded in response. The king could only sigh. “The people ought to hear some good news as the disease continues to grow, and a young prince marrying may pose a good enough distraction—even among the lords. It could give them something to talk about.”

The young man turned to Dimitri then, his familiar, mischievous smile promptly returning. “I shall inform Count Rowe then, keep his focus further from rebellion.”

King Lambert shook his head. “No, I need you to learn everything we ought to know of this disease. Search around our best healers, help them find a cure,” he said solemnly. “I shall write a letter to Lonato, ask him to join us at the court before the disease further spreads into Gaspard territory. We shall secure his alliance to us, and with him, secure the Western Church and Arianrhod.”

The young man nodded without uttering another word. Dimitri watched as he promptly left the king’s quarters, his footsteps quiet and stealthy. When Dimitri looked back at his father, he noticed he had sat down in a chair, Rodrigue standing beside him. It was more than evident how little sleep his father had had in the past few weeks, since his eyes had begun to wrinkle. Dimitri thought of the instructions King Lambert had given to the young man, and chose to aid him too. 


	2. a flower fit for a lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A caravan is set to welcome Miss Eisner and Lady Flayn to Fhirdiad. Flowers are given cordially as a thoughtful gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Brigid, Crystal and Niky who helped me beta-read this!

The streets of Fhirdiad were covered by all sorts of buildings and small, lively houses. Merchants offered their products from their tents, always with a cordial smile and a voice loud enough for every gentleman and lady to hear. Silver cobblestones paved every road and led through every hidden alley. It was rather picturesque—to be true—with its small canals, and the bushes that peeked from the windows. It was unlike anything Byleth had expected, having heard all stories about the city living under a perpetual winter.

It wasn’t hard to tell its coldest weather was only around the corner.The air was cool enough to make Byleth carry her warmest coat and pair of breeches to walk around the city without feeling uncomfortable. But there was something in her that truly longed to see the snow in Fhirdiad everyone always spoke about, the one that covered trees and turned gardens into a vacant canvas to shape figures into that which she desired. She had only seen it once when her father kept her around for his travels.

There were several things about Fhirdiad that had caught her attention. It was the little flower markets she would often come across as she made her way through the streets. Her mother had once been a lover of flowers, always asking Sir Jeralt to bring every new and beautiful bloom he could find during his travels. It was perhaps something Byleth shared with her mother—that delicacy that although not precisely part of Byleth’s common interests, made her heart swell. There were flowers of so many colours, some imported and some cultivated in Faerghan soil. Byleth wished to take some of these to the castle with her, but upon checking into her pocket, she reminded herself why she was there.

To be true, there’d been nothing for her to suspect the royal family to be lying—the king and the prince seemed rather honest and straightforward with their way of addressing themselves. It was in their small mannerisms, the way they would smile as though the sun had set upon their very face; and they were kind too, undoubtedly so. However, there were still plenty of questions left unanswered, and no one had been there to testify why so many of the church’s donations had disappeared upon their reach to Faerghus. There was certainly an issue with poverty, if Byleth could tell, but there had been enough for the prince to wear a newly acquired tunic as he dined the previous evening with her and Flayn.

Byleth sat inside an inn she had come across in the midst of her small travels. It was rather quaint, with wooden tables that creaked upon every small motion, and tall windows that painted every corner of the city. She had always been drawn to these sort of places, since her father was a heavy drinker who would often need a place to sleep in. There were plenty a mercenary that she’d met in these small places, people close to being her friends she’d often chat with as they shared a pint of rum or beer, all depending on their mood for the day. Byleth however, had ordered for a cup of tea.

The young man that tended to her had been very kind. He had long, ashen hair, and pale, green eyes almost as bright as hers. His smile, although rather shy, was almost as warm as the prince’s, and Byleth found herself feeling rather comfortable at the quaint, little place. She had asked him for a cup of mint tea—its fresh and strong flavour reminding her of her home back at the monastery. It had become a late habit as her grandmother would often spend her afternoons drinking tea along with her. The beer and rum were what she shared with her father.

The young man had nodded, writing down her handpicked order with an uncertainty Byleth couldn’t quite understand. When she noticed his little sister had carried around a tray with freshly baked bread, Byleth asked him for a little piece too.

She hummed with delight as she took a sip of her tea, the taste of mint running along in perfect harmony with that of chamomile. She had never tasted anything like it before; her grandmother had always kept one flavour strictly separate from the other. When she looked up at the young man who’d been tending to her, she gave him the warmest smile she could muster.

“Did you make this brew?” she asked kindly.

The young man nodded, his cheeks colouring in an instant. “Indeed I did. I like to experiment with different flavours often, as my mother frequently does when she cooks. I had given the same cup to a young man who attends our inn on every Saturday, and he told me he liked it, so I thought perhaps I could offer it to you too.”

Byleth promptly nodded, taking another sip of her drink. “It’s delightful.”

The young man bowed his head more proudly and thanked her for her kindness, his already coloured cheeks darkening. “Are you not from around here?”

Byleth shook her head. “I’m afraid not, this is my first time visiting the capital.”

“Do you travel often then?” the young man asked, his eyes glinting with curiosity.

“When I was younger, yes,” Byleth responded. “My father and I would habitually travel around—oftentimes even outside of Fódlan, because of his job as a mercenary. However, life and circumstances forced me away from this lifestyle, and I hadn’t the chance to travel for the past few years until now.” 

“You are a mercenary then?”

“Not anymore, but I was,” Byleth responded, feeling rather crestfallen. “Were it not for my family needing my aid I would have stayed, but there were matters that required my presence, and I settled with my grandmother where I’ve slowly built myself a home.”

“I see.” The young man nodded. “It must be really interesting, to be able to see quite so many things.”

“It is,” Byleth admitted. “Though settling down and finding a home does have a charm of its own. I imagine living here must be quite lovely.”

The young man nodded, albeit rather uncertain. “It is very lovely, though it has been difficult for the past few years. My family and I used to live in a village in Rowe territory when we were children, but upon the loss of our father, our mother brought us here. It is true that merchants and the lot make a better living here at the capital, but it’s still a struggle to make it through the year at times when there’s only enough coin to feed our guests and then ourselves.”

Byleth nodded with understanding and took another sip of her drink. She stared out at the window and noticed grey clouds had begun to form in the sky, and merchants were soon taking up their tents inside to their small houses. When Byleth looked back at the young man she’d been speaking to, she noticed he had been smiling.

“It is rather lovely to be here though,” he carried on. “There are plenty of people just like us trying to make it through the year, gentlemen and ladies who offer you smiles without being prompted, families who moved here from other countries. I know you don’t get to see that in other territories, only in Fhirdiad. And knowing the king and the prince live all the way up there makes it all the more reassuring.”

Byleth tilted her head with curiosity, her eyes glinting. “I see the royal family is quite loved here then.”

The young man nodded his head excitedly. “Very much,” he confessed. “I know things aren’t ideal in the country, but the king and his son do the best they can. I know the prince to be famous for offering his aid when there’s trouble within our community, and the few ladies who live nearby whisper he sometimes teaches orphans to read and to write. I haven’t the opportunity to see it for myself, but I have faith it is true.”

Byleth meditated on his answer for a moment, before she promptly countered him. “And how would you know he doesn’t offer visits to detriment the lives of the people?” 

But the young man shook his head, determined, a small smile forming across his lips. “You have some terrible faith placed upon the young prince, I’m sure he’s nothing like that. It may be naïve of me to believe someone I hardly know so eagerly, but I’ve seen some of the things his majesty and his highness have done for my neighbours. Careless people wouldn’t bother to think of those in need at all.”

Byleth smiled warmly, her eyes drifting away to the establishment’s door. The young man’s little sister had hidden behind a counter to listen to their every word, her small frame barely struggling to be unseen at all. She couldn’t have been older than ten, her ashen hair falling to her shoulders like two bright cascades. When she realised Byleth was smiling shyly, the young girl returned her smile.

“It’s not bad faith,” Byleth said softly. “If I’ve learnt something of the prince, it is of his endless kindness.”

The young man nodded proudly and turned to the door where another person was waiting. He welcomed the newly acquainted young woman with a warm smile, his voice—though rather shy, was confident enough to lead the new customer to a perfectly situated table. Byleth listened carefully as he took the young woman’s order, ever so vibrant, and smiled as once again he had been asked for a cup of chamomile tea.

When Byleth looked out to the window, she realised a storm had flooded to the newly emptied streets. There were several children running around, some playing, others searching for their house. Byleth had never seen such a thing back at home in Garreg Mach, and the little environment had promptly caught her attention.

She watched quietly for a little while, her eyes drifting from the streets to the sky. It had turned the same shade of grey as the cobblestones, and Byleth looked with curiosity as heavy raindrops swiftly covered the windows. Every now and then she would see people walking by, guarding their heads with their warm, hooded capes or long arms. There were elderly ladies, children and even young men, but none of them had caught her particular attention until she saw a tuft of blond hair.

The hooded cloak that covered his head was a lovely shade of grey, a particularly muted colour she never thought to see on the young man. The crown Prince Dimitri was famously known for his handsome features, the silky, blond locks that fell over his face. Byleth would often hear stories from Flayn and Mercedes about how polished his uniform always was. She had heard how well blue looked on him, how perfectly it complemented his beautiful, cerulean eyes. She didn’t doubt them, of course—she had seen for herself how well the young prince looked the prior evening at dinner. But she was so well accustomed to hearing of him dressed in blue, that seeing another colour felt altogether too odd.

She finished her drink and promptly bid the young man who had tended to her farewell, a promise to visit again already leaving her lips before she thought of it. She covered her head with her own hood, the cold air from the wind already sending her shivers. She thought of approaching the prince, of asking for his sudden secretiveness—the sudden necessity to walk around the streets of Fhirdiad all on his own, but she followed him quietly instead.

Byleth Morgan Eisner was a young woman of five and twenty—a number big enough to amount to half a life, but certainly not enough when a quarter of it had been spent under a rather hazy memory, and beside a father who couldn’t quite understand his child. He had raised her with love, of that Byleth had no doubt, but there were times in which he found it altogether too difficult. Byleth, being the quiet and unspoken forgery of her mother, couldn’t quite express her desires, her fears or her deepest affections. She was, as the mercenaries would say, a dead fish, a walking cadaver—an ashen demon; and with such noble titles, she found herself too drawn to the life of a mercenary, of a spy, where she was expected to be quiet and ruthless. To have no heart.

She followed through the streets and alleys, her eyes roaming around the place in curiosity. There were plenty of things in the city she wished to stop and see, places she made a mental note to visit on another day, with enough time. There was a small bookshop, where young men and women practiced spells behind a counter, a little flower shop with lilies hanging from a balcony. Merchants seemingly passed her by without any recollection of what they had seen, the young prince walking beside them without them ever realising it. Byleth wondered how long it would take for them to recognise her, but upon watching as the prince casually walked she thought it would perhaps never really happen.

The young prince led her to the outskirts of the city, all outwardly unaware at all of her presence. She had grown stealthier, and cleverer too. With each passing day, she had learned a thing or two from her grandmother, from the spies she had worked with, and the mercenaries too. There was a small cottage hidden behind elm trees, the warmer tones of the newly dried leaves matching with its own cream walls. 

Byleth hesitantly took a step towards it, choosing to hide instead behind a tree. She waited for the young prince to knock upon the door, his eyes ostensibly lost in the tall mountains that hid behind the city. When an old lady answered, she didn’t seem at all surprised to see him, a gentle and kind smile spreading through her wrinkled skin. She motioned for the young prince to follow her, her hands motioning for him to walk in. Byleth chuckled quietly as the young prince had to slouch to be able to walk in. When he did so, smaller hands reached out to welcome him.

Byleth debated for a moment whether to try and follow him. She could walk inside from a back window, escape just as well if she desired. She had managed to do so earlier when she hastily left the castle, the heels she always carried hidden away in her new chambers. She could barely make a noise if she so desired, search for the young prince and see through all these matters. Byleth couldn’t quite fathom what a man like him could possibly be doing in a place so far away from the castle, and her curiosity poundered loudly against her chest. But before she could make a move, take ahold of her dagger and follow the prince from any windows, a hand fell to her shoulder, making her jump in fear and surprise.

She turned around quickly, her eyes searching for a man or a woman taller than herself—perhaps the king, ready to incriminate her for having followed the prince without a further reason than blatant treason. But instead, she found somebody shorter, with long green locks, and an unamused expression Byleth had grown to recognise. She let out a huff of relief, her eyes shifting briefly to the cottage where the prince had disappeared, and when she locked eyes with her cousin again, she found Flayn sighing desperately, pulling Byleth away.

“You silly goose!” Flayn exclaimed. “Where did you go to all this morning? It’s taken me at least an hour to find you!”

“I told you I would go investigate the city, I promised your father as much,” Byleth responded.

“You promised to do so as we were already well settled in the castle, not when the royal family awaited us to have breakfast. I had to tell them you fell ill from all you had ingested the previous dinner. Now they shall think you ought to eat less than you normally do.”

Byleth grunted with annoyance. “I apologise for my sudden departure,” she said finally, albeit rather reluctantly. “I shall be there in the castle by tomorrow morning, but there is something I ought to investigate as of now. The prince—“

“The prince should be looking forward to seeing us back at the castle, where they’re waiting to receive us with a caravan worthy of royalty. I know you’re not altogether comfortable with such matters, and neither am I, but I do not wish to disappoint his majesty or his highness—not when they showered us with so much kindness last evening.”

Byleth let out a sigh and promptly nodded. “I suppose there should be enough time for me to investigate during our stay here.”

* * *

The people of Fhirdiad loved the king and the prince as fervently as Byleth could ever imagine. They would speak of both with warmth and tenderness, recalling every moment throughout their lives where the royal family had shown them ardently, how much they truly cared for them. There were ballads, poems, and never ending anecdotes relating to every moment in which King Lambert and Prince Dimitri had proven once again to be the heroes of Fhirdiad.

Byleth had taken a moment to process the entire ordeal. She had long sat beside the window of her guest room watching the rain fall until it’d promptly stopped; the raindrops covered the colourful, stained-glass windows. Flayn had picked a lovely dress for her to wear, a garment of dark blues and silver that had been carefully crafted by Mercedes for Byleth to wear during her stay at the kingdom. The cloth, although warmer than her usual attire, failed to cover Byleth’s neck and shoulder, long puffy sleeves falling from her arms and forearms. There was a string of silver fur that well adorned the area of her chest, and a silver pendant long enough to hide between her breasts. 

She looked beautiful—as her grandmother would often say—ethereal almost, enthralling enough to capture the attention of royals and nobles alike. 

When Flayn had motioned for the two of them to follow the king’s lionguards outside into the gardens, Byleth let out a sigh and waited for a moment where she could be with the young prince alone. 

Flowers, banquets and the like had been placed around in tables for Byleth and Flayn to grab. There were small dishes, desserts and delicacies Byleth had ever known to exist in places such as Duscur and Brigid—plates full of food Flayn’s palate couldn’t quite handle, but Byleth would proudly take upon to fill the hunger she had gathered ever since she had disappeared that morning. The king motioned for her to serve as much as she liked onto her plate, and grinned widely when he noticed Byleth had served herself a plate of Faerghan’s finest cuisine. 

There was a bard playing a song for them as each member of the court took a seat. There were nobles Byleth was certain she had heard of before but hadn’t ever seen before. The noble Duke of Fraldarius sat beside the king, his son—prince Dimitri’s lionguard, hid around the gardens with a few other knights. There was a pleasant air to the whole celebration, a sense of never ending peace and quiet albeit the singing that made Byleth feel almost as though she was back at home, reading as her grandmother hummed to her old songs.

Every now and then a noble woman would lock eyes with her, the pale green shade of them as imposing as her own. She sat beside the king’s older brother, the infamous Duke Rufus, who although not entirely the sort of man Byleth longed to keep close, had been kind enough to acknowledge her and present his formalities. The woman seemed to have been studying her, a solemn expression falling over her features as she watched, albeit rather distasteful, how Byleth calmly ate her food. She wasn’t fond of her presence, of that Byleth was aware; but there was something else to the lady, something that made Byleth uneasy to her gaze and presence.

The Court of Fhirdiad was made up of three gentlemen and three ladies alike, who sat stoutly behind the king and his son. The eldest, and by consequence of his birth—the highest ranked, was Duke Rufus, a proud and handsome enough gentleman with a rather pitiful reputation that followed his love for vices. He was kind as the other members of his family, but most of it was left to question as Byleth did wonder how much of it was genuine goodwill, or the mask to hide his true intentions with young ladies as beautiful as her. The second in ranking was the lady of emerald eyes, a woman by the name of Lady Cornelia Arnim, who had earned her seat at the court with her renowned skills for reason magic, and, as many other would whisper, her willingness to become Duke Rufus’ most esteemed lover. Beside them sat Lady Haunild Fólais, a noble lady from the Blaiddyd territory, and Lord Edwin Brún, a gentleman with a certain fondness for hunting and the dogs who accompanied him. Lady Philippa Byrne and Lord Warin Tulach hadn’t accompanied them, as they much preferred to take walks throughout the gardens—the rumours of their courtship that followed the rather elderly couple spoke of how the two had soon joined arms after the passing of the latter’s late wife.

Byleth, who although undoubtedly had a name of her own, felt rather inadequate in the presence of so many a haughty noble. She had arrived in Fhirdiad under the impression of being a simple young woman with strong connections within the church, though the certainty of those connections hadn’t been disclosed. Ultimately, it was her cousin Flayn that was expected for the prince to choose in marriage. Her connections to the archbishop and her father’s good position in the church made her a strong candidate to become the future queen. Byleth, however, had been raised as a commoner and had lived for the most of her life as such. She had grown accustomed to the title of lady, and in many an occasion—to be treated with as much respect as her grandmother; but she was to be the new archbishop, and three years hadn’t been enough time to paint her as the renowned lady she was supposed to be.

Nevertheless, a certain calm washed over her as the young prince took a seat beside her, her cousin Flayn soon following with a wide grin upon her lips. They each offered a dish they had brought from over the tables—desserts from Duscur, Sreng and Faerghus alike, that looked as appetising as every other dish Byleth had the pleasure of tasting. A court jester had soon made his way into the gardens, and with a bold grin on his face began to tell all sorts of jokes about Duke Rufus and his brother.

When Byleth took a bite of the sweet bread Prince Dimitri had offered to her, her chest warmed—it was a delicacy not unlike the ones she had shared before with her father during her travels, a comfort she had longed for in a very long while.

“I trust you and Lady Flayn have settled well here at the castle,” Prince Dimitri said warmly, a small, shy smile of his own forming on his lips. “Lady Flayn has told me of the delays you met as you travelled through Charon territory, and I must apologise on behalf of the weather. Rains do tend to follow us along from the summer to autumn, and while I have grown quite accustomed and fond of them, I do hope you were both kept warm enough for it to not cause any harm to your health.”

Flayn giggled, a hand covering her lips as Byleth soon followed. “There’s nothing for you to worry over, as Seteth would rather spend his days freezing in the strong winds of Sreng than allow for his lovely daughter to spend a moment in the cold worrying over her health,” Byleth answered.

“That does sound like Seteth,” Prince Dimitri admitted. “Though if there were ever any troubles or signs that you feel unwell, do let me know and I shall call for the best healers in Fhirdiad. A friend of mine works down at the School of Sorcery, and I’m certain she would be pleased to treat you ladies—as well as become acquainted with you.”

Byleth nodded promptly. “It would be our pleasure to meet her as well.”

Prince Dimitri’s smile widened. “There is someone I would like you to meet, if you will allow me,” he said softly. “Your cousin has mentioned you have a liking for flowers, and it would warm me greatly if you became acquainted with all the beautiful things in this city—including those which don’t come from our country itself.”

Byleth nodded, albeit rather hesitantly. She took another bite of her dessert before the prince offered his hand for her to take, Flayn watching curiously behind them. Byleth allowed for the prince to lead them behind the gardens, where few lionguards rested and chattered loudly. When Prince Dimitri explained that he should be back in a moment, the lionguards parted ways for the young prince and his guests to take a walk.

“It wouldn’t be a proper caravan if we weren’t to leave the castle, would it?” Prince Dimitri asked, his eyes glowing. He gently took Byleth’s hand and led her outside the castle through a small alleyway not too far behind. Flayn promptly followed them, her sparkly eyes never losing their amusement.

They stopped before a little house, purple wisteria falling from its terrace, and bushes full of roses surrounding its small entrance. There was a cart full of the most beautiful blooms waiting outside the door, splashes of all sorts of colours painting it into an earthly sunset. Byleth hesitantly took a step towards it, her hands hovering over the cart with curiosity. She almost took a flower merely to smell it but was promptly stopped by Prince Dimitri who had already knocked on the door.

The young man that soon greeted them was rather handsome, not too different from them in age, but perhaps so in manners. His pearly white hair laid short by his sides, while a small ponytail tied up behind the back. His dark brown skin was rich and beautiful, kissed by the sun, as that of the children of Duscur. He greeted the young prince with a warm and familiar smile, his hands hanging hesitantly by his sides before the prince wrapped him up in a hug. Byleth watched quietly as the young man pressed a kiss by the prince’s cheek, a custom rather different from those which came from Faerghus, but not perhaps by Duscurian brothers.

“Dedue, my dear friend, how good it is to see you!” Prince Dimitri exclaimed. He turned back to gaze at Byleth and Flayn, who’d been watching the scene in a most quiet manner, curious to see it unfold, as well as courteous not to interrupt. “There’s someone I should like you to meet, as I’m certain you two shall get along very well.”

The young man—Dedue, tilted his head in curiosity. He briefly locked eyes with Byleth and Flayn, seemingly studying each of their features. When he realised the prince had walked over to take Byleth’s hand, the young man smiled. 

“Dedue,” Prince Dimitri said, “allow me to introduce you to my dear friend, Miss Eisner. And her cousin, Lady Flayn.”

Dedue tipped his head in greeting, a warm smile forming on his lips. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Eisner and Lady Flayn.”

“Dedue and I met a year before I left Fhirdiad to attend the Officer’s Academy,” Prince Dimitri explained. He and Dedue made a motion for both ladies to walk inside the little house, stepping aside for each of them to promptly follow. “He and his family had only just moved here when I encountered him by the plaza. To be true, I’m not well acquainted with flowers, but I knew enough to choose the kind that would make my stepmother smile.”

Dedue laughed, albeit rather quietly. “It was my pleasure to help the young prince pick a flower fit for someone so dear. Though, at the time I hadn’t known it ought to have been fit for a Queen. My family and I were still becoming acquainted with the city and its customs, and it took awhile for us to recognise it had been the prince himself who had come to visit us. Though, of course, over time we became dearest friends.”

Byleth took a look around the establishment, her eyes widening in awe. There were flowers of all kinds covering over the walls, taking the place amidst the floor and painting it into the most beautiful pink and blue hues. Byleth felt her chest flutter in delight, how much she wished she’d known her mother simply so she could take her to see all of this. Flayn, as well as herself, had taken a step around the little greenhouse, the peculiar entrance of the house sending a thrill across her chest. Behind a bush of yellow roses, Byleth noticed a small girl hiding, her pearly hair and brown eyes sparkling as bright as any other flower, making Byleth smile. 

Byleth hesitantly took a step towards a vase where blue columbines were kept. Back at the monastery, flowers of all kinds were grown to honour the goddess—and in itself, Byleth and her grandmother. Visiting the greenhouse and helping cultivate these precious flowers was one of the greatest pleasures Byleth delighted herself on her free days, the sweet smell of the blooms making her feel at ease. It was a tradition for the archbishop and her scion to wear flowers in their hair—a custom perhaps, of the long forgotten Nabateans, as Flayn rather enjoyed for blooms to decorate her hair on special occasions as well. 

“If you would like to take one for yourself—or perhaps a bouquet, do so freely,” Prince Dimitri spoke, standing idly beside her. He was smiling rather shyly, a consequence perhaps, of visiting a dear friend in the presence of strangers. “Take it as a gift from the kingdom to you.”

Byleth stared at him reluctantly, a matter of long wasted money quickly itching at the back of her head. She thought to ask him of his business at that cottage earlier, question him upon the matters at the Western Church, but she realised it was most likely he hadn’t known at all—his eyes, too gentle and innocent for the reality of his country. They shone brightly alongside the precious flowers he now held in his hand. It was then that Byleth realised how alike they were in colour to the flowers Byleth often wore within the silks of her hair.

“Do you like flowers, your highness?” she asked directly.

The prince’s eyes widened in surprise, his cheeks turning a lovely rosy colour. Byleth suppressed a laugh before the young man promptly shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t like them myself, I am very capable of admiring all things beautiful, but I’m afraid I’m rather clumsy on occasion, and I wouldn’t dare to harm something so beautiful,” he admitted. “And please, call me Dimitri. Under this roof and every other we are friends, there’s no need for formalities.”

Byleth nodded. “Alright, Dimitri.”

Dimitri hesitantly opened his mouth to speak again, his eyes shifting towards the other end of the room, where Flayn had sparked a conversation with Dedue. They were discussing the meaning of flowers, which would make for the perfect bouquet. There was an eager curiosity in Flayn’s eyes—her never ending love for learning, as Byleth had come to understand over the years they had lived together. In that sense, they were much alike, almost like sisters.

“Lady Flayn informed me earlier in the morning that you’re very fond of flowers, particularly columbines as they remind you of your mother. She also informed me in the privacy we shared at the castle’s gardens that you’re rather fond of eating—that is, of all good food. Though you prefer your solitude over such large crowds,” he explained, “Lady Flayn thought you would feel more welcomed if I brought you here.”

Byleth turned her gaze towards the aforementioned lady, her amused smile not taking Byleth by surprise. Flayn, although not devious in the least, had a special interest for matchmaking, particularly with the nuns who worked at the monastery. Aside from the few classmates she had had during the time she and Seteth had freshly moved to the monastery, she had only a handful of friends she had made alongside Byleth—nuns and mages not too far from their own age, all too interested in the romantic and rather dramatic stories Flayn had to tell. There was trouble, however, in the back of Byleth’s head, concerning the crown prince of Faerghus accidentally courting the wrong lady.

“That is very kind of you, Dimitri,” she said gently, her hands hovering over to take the flower the young prince held in his hands. “I’m certain my cousin would be very pleased if you shared a lily with her as well.”

Prince Dimitri’s eyes widened, and he nodded promptly. “Of course,” he exclaimed. “Lady Flayn, please do not hesitate to take on your favourite flower. Take it as a gift from me and the kingdom. You know very well it is a pleasure to have you with us here.”

Flayn giggled, her eyes brightening as she took a flower from one of the counters. When she turned to Dedue she bowed gently as a thank you, Byleth promptly following behind.

“It might be best if we return to the castle soon,” Byleth said flatly. She placed the flower the prince had handed to her behind her ear and smiled, albeit rather shortly. “I do not wish for the king to take offence at our absence, and I’m certain rumours shall soon spark if the three of us are absent.”

“Of course,” Dimitri nodded before promptly turning to smile at his friend. “Thank you for taking us in, for however short our visit was. It is always a pleasure to see you, my friend.”

Dedue nodded, his smile radiant. “It is always a pleasure to see you too, Dimitri,” Dedue responded, then turned to gaze at Byleth and Flayn. “If you ever wish to visit, please feel free to do so at any time. Any friend of Prince Dimitri is a friend of mine, and this is your home as it is mine.”

Byleth nodded, a small smile spreading across her lips as she took upon the words of the young gentleman. “Thank you Dedue, I would be delighted to come by this place again.”

The four of them bowed to bid each other farewell, Byleth’s eyes shifting to the little girl who had stood beside her brother’s arms. She bid the little girl adieu as well.

The walk back towards the castle had been quiet, the gentle songs of the bard who had been there earlier welcoming them warmly. Byleth hesitantly bowed to the king as she locked eyes with him, and upon seeing both the ladies had come close to exhaustion, the music came to a close. There was that Lady Cornelia locking eyes with her again, her expression imposing and threatening. Byleth took the arm Prince Dimitri had over to her, and with a final glance towards the lady, she allowed for him to guide her and Flayn back towards their chambers where they would prepare for dinner.

The people of the court would soon accompany them to become better acquainted, as Flayn had promptly explained, and they were to look their best for the remainder of the evening—and possibly the week. However, the king would offer them a moment of respite, and leave their mornings to themselves as there was no need for another caravan to welcome them every day to Fhirdiad now that they had properly settled. 

When they stopped before the guest’s chambers, the prince parted his lips to speak. “If I may,” he said softly, “would you be so kind as to accompany me to the training grounds come the morning? I have taken you to the city already and forced this caravan upon you, so if you wish, I would like for us to engage in something we both might enjoy. And of course, I would be interested in seeing your skills in combat, as you have mentioned being raised in Faerghus before.”

“It would be my pleasure to spar against you, your highness,” Byleth said, amused, then nodded more solemnly. “I shall be there by the morning.”

They bid each other farewell, albeit for only a moment, before Byleth and Flayn stepped into their chambers, the smile on Flayn’s lips not missing Byleth’s attention. Byleth sighed, however preoccupied, but she settled onto her bed with a rather pleased expression. It had been a long day, much like the previous, and she dearly wished to have a rest before she walked into dinner.

She took a small step towards the beautiful bedside table that had been crafted with much delicacy, the carved flowers she had seen before in swords and banners quickly gaining her attention. She had placed some dresses and books behind the drawer, taking notice upon the rather antique relic that had already laid on the place before. It was a book, old and rather ragged, but its fine leathered cover was enough to catch Byleth’s curiosity.

When the book came to her hands, an open letter fell onto the floor, its words rather blurred out with the time, but the first sentence clear enough for Byleth to read with perked interest. She took it gently, noticed the hinges that had formed over the paper, yet the letter couldn’t have been more than five years old. She studied the delicate handwriting, the boldness of the black ink, and began reading the letter studiously.

_My dear brother,_

_I write to you this letter in the hopes that it should reach to you before this fortnight passes, for my health worsens, and King Lambert has no hopes of me surviving another Faerghan winter._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck around, and welcome to any new readers! I shall make the best to continue updating this fic every two weeks.
> 
> Thank you so much again for reading, and to everyone who left a comment and kudos on the first chapter <3 these are all greatly appreciated!


	3. a secret underneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit is made, another letter is found, and Dimitri finds himself quite mystified when crossing blades with his alluring guest.
> 
> CW: mentions and discussion of an epidemic, descriptions of a disease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my friends Brigid and Crystal who helped me beta-read this chapter.

“I’m here to see the professor,” Dimitri explained, his voice quiet but warm. He had become well acquainted with the guard that stood by the door over the past few years, his visits becoming more recurring as his friend had settled well into the city.

Fhirdiad’s School of Sorcery was a well-established institute within the walls of the grand city. Its stronghold and exterior resembled that of the castle, bearing the royal family’s coat of arms in long, blue banners. Students of all ages came in and out of the place, their curious glances fleeting over Dimitri from his cloak to his blond hair. Whispers and warm exchanges followed the halls as several groups of friends walked by. It reminded Dimitri of the year he had spent at the Officer’s Academy.

“Good morning, your highness, it’s so good to see you,” a voice exclaimed behind him, its dulcet tone bringing a smile to Dimitri’s face. “I didn’t expect a visit from you so early in the month. I know you’ve been quite busy as of late.”

Dimitri turned to greet his friend, a short young woman with lovely auburn hair. Annette Fantine Dominic was a renowned teacher at the School of Sorcery, her skills and wisdom not unknown to the king and his men. Her father, although rather absent in his own home, had been a member of the king’s lionguards since Dimitri’s infancy, and her uncle, the illustrious baron of House Dominic, had been a good friend to King Lambert from their teenage years. She had grown to be as diligent as her father, and with the aid from her uncle, had been given enough tools to bloom into the excellent woman and mage she had become.

“My dear friend,” Dimitri countered, “do not think for a second that I would cast aside a chance to see you, no matter how busy I am. It is always a pleasure to come down here and visit you, although I will admit things have been rather hectic back at home.”

Annette took his arm and guided him towards the teachers’ hall. She had grown taller since they had attended the Officer’s Academy, though not enough to reach past his shoulders. “The students here tell many rumours,” she chirped, “but is it true that I should expect a wedding invitation from you soon? Is that why you have come to visit?”

Dimitri chuckled and shook his head. “Not at all, dear friend. Not as of yet at least, but I suppose you shall receive an invitation soon enough. No indeed, I have come here for an entirely different reason—to ask for your aid in a very important matter.”

Annette’s expression turned solemn, her smile fading. She regarded Dimitri sternly and took a step with him inside the little office they had granted her. It had been an empty canvas when she had first moved to the city, Dimitri could still recall it—but over the passing of months, and winters, as she would often announce, the room was slowly filled with little trinkets and gifts she had gotten from her students. It was a quaint little office, nothing like the darkened rooms he remembered from visiting Seteth.

“It’s about the disease spreading in the south, is it not?” she asked, her voice full of concern. “I thought you would in due time, but I didn’t think the news would reach the castle quite as fast.”

“Have you learned anything about it?” he asked eagerly. “How has word come to you faster than the castle?”

“It hasn’t,” she replied hastily, “or at least, I’m not certain it has. One of the teachers working here was sent to House Rowe to see to her mother. Upon her return to Fhirdiad, she was kept in quarantine in the quiet of her quarters, and hasn’t stepped out of it ever since. We’ve been quite worried about her. Word has it that her mother passed during her stay, but she hasn’t exchanged a word or a letter with us these days.”

“A professor then,” Dimitri pondered. He took a seat beside Annette, who had sat in the office chair. She looked quite the distinguished mage she had brought herself to be, a respectable teacher by the standards of her elders and the younger ones alike. “Have you learned anything regarding the disease—the symptoms, that is?”

Annette shook her head. “We haven’t been kept informed as of yet,” she said gravely. “There are healers, of course—priests and bishops who have taken the lead in fighting against this disease. I’ve heard rumours here and there, about dark magic, spells more powerful than the ones we’ve learned, but nothing to explain how it continually spreads in southern regions, and at such a fast pace too.”

Dimitri sighed, “Of course.”

“There is a possibility though,” Annette continued, “that we might find something if we visit the library. There are a thousand tomes about strange diseases, some epidemics that spread through Fódlan’s history, although I have a feeling this may be something new.”

“And can we visit?” Dimitri asked.

Annette smiled. “A prince is allowed to visit whenever he may like,” she mumbled, then stood from her seat. When she walked outside of her office, she offered her arm for Dimitri to take. “I may need to inform Lady Mairead of your visit—if the gatekeeper hasn’t yet, but it shall only take a moment. I’ve taken you there before, haven’t I? I’m certain I did that time when I was off to do chores—”

Dimitri laughed quietly, then nodded. “You have, yes. A grand room towards the west wing, if I remember correctly.”

“Do you think you could find your way there without my help? I’ll catch up to you as soon as I can.”

“Certainly.” Dimitri nodded. “And if I were to get lost, I’m sure I can ask another professor for directions. They’ve gotten quite accustomed to me visiting here, I doubt they shall find it strange.”

Annette giggled and let go of Dimitri’s arm, her eyes bright with curiosity—the look she would often give when she was sure to discover an answer to a long-awaited question. “It shall only take me a moment, I promise.”

Dimitri nodded and followed the directions he had spoken of to Annette. The west wing, although not as cluttered as the rest of the school, kept a few people here and there, seeking to find their classrooms, or curious enough to spend hours amidst the grand library. The place in question was not so different from the one at the castle. Every wall and every corner was littered with books of every size and colour, some much older than others. Dimitri had been at the place on more than one occasion, each time as marvelled by the room as any other. It was similar to the library at home, but certainly much bigger. 

Dimitri made his way towards a shelf right before the entrance, the volumes on medicine and herbs immediately calling to him. The practice of herbs had been abandoned with the passing of the years, the introduction to faith magic proving to be more efficient. There were certain regions throughout Faerghus that still relied on it—the people of Duscur and other regions that had settled in small villages around the kingdom. Dimitri had learned a thing or two from listening to Dedue and his mother, minor tricks with flowers and weeds that could very well replace his lack of knowledge within faith magic.

He skimmed through the book, his fingers threading delicately through the pages—careful not to tear apart something so valuable for the school and his country. There were certain passages about diseases, epidemics that had spread throughout Fódlan years before the kingdom had been founded, but nothing that could properly enlighten him in the disease he was seeking to learn about, when he hardly knew anything about it.

He continued to skim through it however, looking around each passage about herbs, until small footsteps approached him, and he looked up to see Annette. She was smiling as usual, her bright demeanour lighting up the room. She grinned towards Dimitri and motioned for him to carry on with his book. Dimitri closed it, almost in retaliation, searching for a direction Annette could point him towards.

“Have you found anything?” she asked calmly.

Dimitri shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Nothing of value, at least.”

Annette strode towards him, her eyes gleaming over the tome he had taken. She hummed in response, her own slender fingers sliding through the pages. She turned her attention to the shelf that laid behind them, then shook her head and pointed him towards the left corner of the room. The wooden shelves in the area had darkened with the passing of the years, or perhaps the rotten work of some kind of spell in those books. There was something in the section that made Dimitri uneasy to even consider walking in, something dark looming into the corner.

“It might be best if we search in there,” Annette whispered. “It’s the forbidden section. Contains more accurate information on dark magic and diseases, if that is indeed what we search for.”

Dimitri nodded reluctantly. He walked in the direction Annette had pointed, and hovered over each tome, hesitantly taking one book on dark magic as Annette took a strode through the shelves before him. She gently hummed as she began to read, prompting Dimitri to follow along. The volume he had grabbed was small compared to the others, a small introduction to the history of dark magic in Fódlan he was certain had once belonged to young students. He skimmed through the pages, searching for something of interest, before he promptly closed it and searched for something else. 

There was another book that caught his attention, a tome as thick as The Book of Seiros, with golden accents and a dark purple binding. Dimitri took it carefully, his hands hovering over the cover. He inspected it thoroughly, his fingers sliding its sides. When he finally opened it to read, a piece of rough paper fell to the ground. Dimitri took it gently, careful not to tear it apart. 

The page contained a sketch made with graphite—a beautiful rendition of two women and a young girl that would have surely disappeared with time, were it not for the magic spell that protected it. The piece of paper had been burned at one of its corners, the remnants of ash still palpable to Dimitri’s fingers. It took a moment for Dimitri to recognise the two women in the drawing, but upon further inspection, he realised both were as familiar to him as the face of his father. The woman on the left stood haughtily behind the other, her piercing eyes as daunting even in a piece of paper—Lady Cornelia Arnim, a mage twice as illustrious as Annette, who had made her name across Faerghus and into the walls of the grand castle Dimitri called his home. The other woman, however, took a while longer to recognise, her long, light brown hair done in an intricate braid Dimitri had only seen in few selected occasions. Her name was Anselma Von Arundel, as well as Lady Patricia Blaiddyd—Dimitri’s beloved stepmother.

He stared at the sketch for a little longer, wondering how it appeared inside such an ancient volume. His stepmother couldn’t have been older than three and thirty—the twenty-year difference she had apart from Dimitri always resonated with him. He remembered how she had once explained gently that she had only been five and twenty when she had married his father, the change of pace proving quite challenging for someone that had only been, in truth, quite so young. Dimitri had been thirteen when Lady Cornelia had moved into the castle, only a little child when the two women spent so much time with one another. It hadn’t escaped to Dimitri how they’d once been very close confidants.

He turned around the paper to hide it in his pockets—a memory of his once beloved stepmother always welcoming—when he realised the other side of the paper was a short but carefully written letter. The handwriting he could recognise as swiftly as that of the face of Lady Arnim, it was a handwriting he still kept around in letters tucked inside several of his room’s drawers. Letters Lady Patricia had written to him in his absence, some thrilled, some as bittersweet as the day of her departure. She had been grieving for quite some time, complained about the pains her disease had brought to her over the time. The last time she had written to him she asked him to pray for her to find some peace, and indeed she had done so on a long, Faerghan winter. Dimitri cried for a week inside his quarters at the Officer’s Academy. 

He hesitated before he read, guilt nagging at the back of his head. He had never before read a letter that wasn’t intended to him, but his curiosity was rather strong, and the shakiness of each cursive letter called out for him to carry on.

The letter was not too different from the last ones he had received, a bundle of prayers for her health, and on occasions complaints regarding her pains. However, as Dimitri went further into her writings, he realised Lady Patricia had spoken of something she hadn’t done before with him. She had listed every one of her symptoms hoping that Lady Arnim would soon find a cure, some that made his own stomach sick, others much like headaches but deep inside her head. The list she had given was horrific, mentions of deep bruises suddenly appearing through her body—veinlike purple lines slowly spreading through her legs like dark magic. By the time Dimitri was done reading, a knot had formed in his throat.

He tucked the letter inside his tunic, the small pockets that decorated his sides keeping it safe. He took hold of the book once again, before his gaze darted to a strange-looking lever behind him. It was made of steel and painted a dark brown to blend in with its surroundings. Dimitri noticed there was something about it that reminded him of the book he held in his hands, and he wondered if they were perhaps connected. He left the book on the shelf and made his way towards the lever. When he pulled it, the wall before him fell apart, opening a path right before his eyes.

Dimitri promptly hesitated before he walked inside, his footsteps uneasy and his heart beating fast. The place was barely lit, every step he took further into the tunnel, taking all light away from him. He placed a hand against a wall, letting it guide him through the darkened path. Dimitri relied entirely on his sight on normal light, but he wasn’t entirely pristine to depending on his senses for survival. His hearing, although not particularly special under any circumstance, was well trained to hear enough of his surroundings. There was a deafening silence inside the tunnel, but every now and then he was certain he could distinguish the intelligible sound of water—the noise from canals that surrounded Fhirdiad.

He carried on through the tunnel for what seemed like hours. Every step he took proved to be more suffocating than the previous. The noises had become more distant, the sound of water barely a whisper now. Dimitri thought of going back, of running towards the way he had come in and find his way out, but the more he continued on the path, the more he realised there was a light towards the end of the tunnel—a staircase to lead him to salvation.

It took him a moment to get to the staircase. His feet, though unyielding, were beginning to fail him amidst a path unknown. The staircase, although undoubtedly as old as the city itself, seemed as fresh and perfectly kept as any other hall from the palace, its cobblestones and decorations reminding Dimitri of the staircases back at his home. It was as though there were people who came and went into this tunnel, not a long forgotten secret passage hidden amidst the walls of the castle.

Dimitri walked up each of the stairs with perfect caution, his eyes gleaming over the perfectly sculpted flowers that arose throughout the stairwell. He noticed that with each footstep; the path became clearer, the light of the day encircling him and bringing him a warmth he hadn’t realised he had missed. When he finally came towards the end of the staircase, he discerned he was in one of the grand halls inside the castle—the west wing, near his uncle’s quarters, and those of Lady Cornelia Arnim’s. 

He remembered the letter he had tucked inside his pocket—how long ago, he could hardly tell. It burned against his chest as strongly as the day he had met his stepmother; the memory becoming more vivid as thoughts of Lady Patricia flooded his head. He promised himself he would hide this new letter carefully next to all the others, then rushed towards the training grounds where he hoped Miss Eisner still awaited.

* * *

The training grounds were a merry venue by the time Dimitri arrived. Knights and ladies alike gathered around the field, some chattering audibly, others sparring against one another. Lady Flayn sat around the corner, a group of female knights babbling beside her. She appeared to be in a cheerful mood, something not uncommon, but still reassuring. She offered Dimitri a gentle smile, her head bowing slightly in greeting, before she turned to her newly found friends and continued her chitchat.

In the middle of the ground was Miss Eisner, her pale green hair whipping swiftly from one side to the other as her sword moved in a graceful rhythm against her opponent. Glenn, his most trusted lionguard, strode rapidly towards her way, his sword clicking audibly against hers. Several other knights had gathered around them, each as intrigued by this minor battle as Dimitri himself. Dimitri could easily discern the voices of his father’s knights whispering abound and making bets over the winner. There was a rather heated debate leaning towards Miss Eisner, a gentle voice rooting for the young Fraldarius Knight, who was a renowned soldier among their ranks. Dimitri took a seat beside them and watched the scene unfold with a wide grin.

Glenn was a skilled fighter, of that Dimitri had no doubt. He was swift and strong, his blows each as fatal as the other. Dimitri had seen him fight countless times, had fought alongside him and even against him. They had grown up together, learned to fight together, and every time they’d sparred, Dimitri had reached the conclusion that his skill was not comparable to that of Glenn’s. Glenn Balfour Fraldarius—much like his father and younger brother, was a master swordsman, capable of wielding weapons twice his size since he had been thirteen. He was commonly known as a prodigy child in his prepubescent years and was named a knight at the tender age of fifteen. He had been Dimitri’s most loyal companion ever since.

Nevertheless, his skill was not comparable to that of Miss Eisner’s. Her calculated blows and swift movements caused Glenn’s legs to throttle back. She had skipped every single one of his blows, her small, but sturdy body proving to be not only graceful, but quite stealthy too. She was a wonder to look at, her toned legs tightly covered by a high-waisted pair of breeches, her chest and arms by a loosened white shirt. Had Dimitri not been properly acquainted with the young lady, he would have thought of her as a pirate, and a beautiful one at that.

Glenn launched himself towards her, his sword raised high. She skipped every single one of his blows, her head shifting from side to side with an almost amused expression. She briefly thwarted his sword from landing a blow to her side, her own blade soon rising to land her own attack. Their weapons clashed loudly as each of them continued sparring. Dimitri could tell from the look on Glenn’s face that he was growing tired—frustrated even, coming to believe that if he continued this way, he would find himself unable to defeat his opponent. But the Fraldarius were stubborn and proud, and mustering up any courage he had left, Glenn raised his blade in a swift movement, and tackled the young lady to the ground.

She stared at him bewildered, her eyes glinting with a merriment Dimitri had never seen from her before. She allowed Glenn to bask in his insignificant victory, before she raised her blade again and jumped from the ground in a graceful movement. She was like a dancer, poised and elegant, her movements fluid as the water that ran from the Lake Teutates. She derailed another one of his blows with her sword, her long, green hair falling down to her neck as the tie that kept it up in a ponytail split into two. She grimaced in response and pressed her blade against Glenn’s neck before he countered her weapon away with his own.

Glenn snarled as Miss Eisner landed a blow to his leg in response. “You don’t fight fair.”

Miss Eisner laughed, the sound sending a thrill through Dimitri’s spine. There was something rare and delightful to it, the sudden loudness to her snickers rather reminding Dimitri of a cherished song from his childhood—the kind that brought him memories of his father smiling and pleased, thinking of his mother but doing so with ease. It was peaceful, yet Dimitri couldn’t help the elation that bubbled in his chest.

“You are far too hasty, sir,” Miss Eisner responded, a small smile forming on her lips. “It is easy to reckon every single one of your blows as your movements are too predictable.”

He twirled around swiftly in response, his blade raising to land another blow she once again thwarted away. The sneer in Glenn’s expression had grown deeper, a drop of sweat running down his forehead. He was running out of options—Dimitri could tell, Miss Eisner proving to be not only a worthy opponent, but a threat to Glenn Fraldarius’ honour too. 

They crossed blades one too many times for Dimitri to count, each blow from Glenn’s side becoming weaker over time. He pressed his blade against her sides, one, two times, hoping to win some sort of advantage against her. Her body swivelled in response, swiftly—gracefully, before she kicked him to the floor and pressed the wooden sword against his neck in one final blow.

Glenn let out a shuddering breath, his eyes closing as he rearranged himself. Several shouts and murmurs erupted around them, each whispering over the defeat of the invincible Glenn Fraldarius. The young man in question rolled his eyes in response, rising from the ground to clean up the sweat on his forehead with his forearms. Miss Eisner gently offered him a hand.

“You fought well,” she mumbled. “Had it not been for my restlessness today, I’m certain you would have defeated me.”

Glenn took her hand and shook it firmly. “You’re an excellent warrior,” he countered. “No matter how well I train, I highly doubt I could be a worthy opponent for someone as stealthy as you. I congratulate you.”

Dimitri rose from his seat, moving to follow both Glenn and Miss Eisner to the middle of the training grounds. He heard a few whispers from the knights behind him, the mood in the room shifting from that of amusement, to clear and comprehensible curiosity. Glenn raised his head to meet him. His eyes, though clouded with disappointment, glinted with an enough hint of amusement to make Dimitri’s cheeks colour in embarrassment.

“—It can be easily achievable if you train diligently,” Miss Eisner spoke resolutely, her voice monotonous, as Dimitri was accustomed to hear. “You may wish to control your temper as you face a stealthy opponent, otherwise you will continue to land empty blows if you rely on brutal strength alone. Calculate their blows, study their weaknesses. That is how you face a stronger foe.”

Glenn scoffed but nodded, his eyes shifting from Dimitri to Miss Eisner. She noticed then with a gentle smile that he had made his way towards them and offered him a small bow as greeting. Dimitri returned her smile.

“Dimitri, I thought you’d decided against coming after all,” she said, her eyes shifting towards Lady Flayn. “My cousin and I were on our way towards our quarters when your lionguard offered to spar.”

“I apologise for my tardiness,” Dimitri admitted. “I got caught up on certain matters, but I wished to congratulate you for your victory against my lionguard today.” 

Miss Eisner studied him for a moment, her expression solemn as her pale gaze locked with his. She parted her lips to offer him a word, perhaps a counter against the barely built excuse for his absence, but Glenn interrupted both his thoughts and her words with a scoff.

“I would sorely like to see your ass kicked by your future spouse before anyone parts from here.”

Dimitri looked up to see his friend, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. Glenn was smiling widely, his bright canines glinting against the gentle light of the sun. He offered his training sword for Dimitri to take and made his way towards the other knights who were still exchanging coins between one another. Dimitri parted his lips to speak, wishing to find the words to argue against his friend appropriately, when Miss Eisner placed a hand on his forearm.

“Would you like to spar?” she asked eagerly.

Dimitri nodded in response, longing to keep his mind away from all his troubles—if only for a brief moment. “It would be my pleasure.”

Miss Eisner took her sword from the ground and held it in behind her shoulders. Dimitri exchanged the training sword Glenn had given to him for the training lance he would usually take with him whenever he and his lionguard sparred. It was a rusty old thing, the wooden planks that held it together quickly losing their colour. He had kept the training lance with him ever since his return to Fhirdiad, the carefully crafted silver lance his father had gifted to him for his nineteenth birthday tucked away with the family’s most precious weapons.

Miss Eisner stood on the ground, a perfect stance as she and Dimitri prepared to battle one another. Her usually amused smile merged into that of calculated composure. She was studying him, of that he was perfectly aware. Her pale green eyes shifted from his face to his long arms, the tight grip with which he held his lance. She waited for him to land his first attack, studied his moves as he deliberately shifted from side to side. She avoided his blow, first and second, her swift legs moving again like those of a dancer. She was beautiful—Dimitri thought, and a most excellent warrior. Nothing like the gentlemen and ladies he had ever faced before.

He watched gingerly as she landed a blow to his side. Her wooden sword, although certainly not as heavy as his lance, made a scratch underneath his ribs. Miss Eisner stopped short, her eyes widening as Dimitri gasped in surprise. She waited for him to respond, to show a sign of his own wellbeing, when he smiled and charged towards her, his lance barely touching her calf. She laughed in response, the concern that had coloured her face soon dissipating. She was radiant as she fought—a worthy opponent, and a sight to behold. She skipped each of his movements with perfect grace, not only making Dimitri look like a fool, but feel like one as well.

They continued fighting as such for a few minutes, the sunlight that graced Fhirdiad every morning sending a thrill of sweat over Dimitri’s forehead. It was perhaps a morning too cold for a lady like Miss Eisner, the weather in Garreg Mach barely amounting to a summer in Faerghus—but Dimitri was too hot, his cheeks soon becoming too red to go unnoticed. He firmly regretted having taken his long, furred cloak with him, heartily regretted not having tossed it aside as he accepted the challenge from his commendable guest. 

She noticed his troubled expression and thwarted his admittedly weak blow. He had continuously avoided using all his strength, his usual clumsiness keeping him from hurting the young lady before him. She was strong, yes—had persistently proven herself to be the most clever and powerful warrior among the room; but Dimitri’s crest could break about anything, and he didn’t dare do something that would fortuitously activate it.

“What’s the matter?” she asked as her sword clashed with his, her eyes pointing at the wooden lance in his hands. “You keep shaking your weapon with your sturdy grip.”

Dimitri’s eyes widened at her words, her perception, although not really a mystery to him, taking him by surprise. “I regret carrying this silly cloak to a battle,” he admitted. “The weather is far too strong for me to bear with quite so many layers.”

Miss Eisner nodded, her expression meditative. “If you take it off, I promise not to attack you,” she said with a laugh, then shook her head. “I’m serious though. You may not fight as well as I know you to be capable of, if you’re uncomfortable. Challenging terrains and difficult weather are certainly something to take into account while you’re fighting, but these are your homeland’s training grounds, and it wouldn’t be a fair fight if I am in perfect condition, and you are not.”

Dimitri smiled, then dropped his training lance to the ground. “I thought you might be cold, actually.”

Miss Eisner smiled. “Perhaps you could lend me that cloak of yours, if you are so concerned.”

Dimitri’s eyes widened as he quickly removed the cloak from his shoulders and offered it to her. Miss Eisner laughed, her green eyes crinkling with mirth. She took the cloak from his hands and placed it on the ground beside her, moving to take her sword again. “Whoever wins this sparring session shall be allowed to keep that cloak for the day. The power of staying warm under this city isn’t granted to just anyone, and I intend to win it.”

Dimitri accompanied her in her laughter, bending to pick up the lance he had previously tossed aside. He could feel the eyes of all the knights who watched with curiosity—the words Glenn had formerly mentioned clinging at the back of his head. He charged towards her with his cheeks still tinted pink, the pace at which he moved proving to be swifter without the weight of his cloak. Miss Eisner countered his attack, her own sword twice as rapid as his weapon. They clashed against one another on more than one occasion, both as determined to win as the other. He thought of the advice she had given to Glenn only a few minutes earlier and tried not to let his emotions swallow him as they fought.

“You never did tell me whether you found that sword you had been looking for,” Dimitri said, his voice even as he evaded one of her blows. “I left the library so hastily that day, I couldn’t even ask for your name.”

“It’s Byleth,” she answered shortly, a smile lifting her lips as he tilted his head in confusion. “My name is Byleth. Eisner is my family name.”

“Oh,” Dimitri answered softly. “Of course.”

Miss Eisner giggled, the note of her voice sending a thrill throughout his chest. “I did not, however, find that sword I had been looking for. I had to excuse myself to my chambers shortly after you. My cousin wouldn’t have allowed me to walk into our dinner in the state I found myself in.”

“I see.” Dimitri nodded.

“Have you heard of such a weapon?” she asked. She raised her sword to land a blow against his chest, but he swiftly thwarted it with his lance. She stared at him, bewildered, before she broke into a smile. “What am I even asking, you probably hardly remember such a description.”

But Dimitri shook his head. “I remember very well, I couldn’t forget such a lucky chance encounter. It was my pleasure to have met you earlier than intended that day,” he mumbled, then carefully shifted to his side to avoid the slash of her sword. “You described a weapon as lengthy as a longsword, made of blue glass that made it appear as a crystal.” She nodded promptly, her expression turning solemn. “It’s not nearly as generic a comparison, as there aren’t many swords around with such a description, but it might perhaps be a Blue Aetherius.”

Miss Byleth tilted her head. “A Blue Aetherius?”

Dimitri nodded, then landed a very gentle blow against her side. She quietly groaned in response, but made no motion to give up to this fight. “It’s quite a rare sword, but perhaps rather more common back in its time. It was the sword lionguards wielded during the time of King Loog, carefully crafted in the sacred mountains by the most renowned swordsmiths in these lands. I wonder how your father could have possibly found such a peculiar blade, as no one has seen any in perhaps over a hundred years.”

Miss Byleth suddenly stopped in her tracks, the hand that had once been wielding a sword falling to her side. She looked to the ground, her eyes puzzled with what appeared to Dimitri as a dozen questions. He tossed aside his lance and took one step closer to her, his hands twisting with the hem of his tunic. He thought of tilting her head towards him with his thumb, to ask for her well-being and that of her father’s. He thought to offer any sort of help in whatever sort of quest that formed in her head, but he opted to merely ask if something was the matter.

Miss Byleth’s lips didn’t even part to answer his question when Lord Rodrigue stepped into the training grounds asking for him. 

There was a certain air of concern to his expression, his gloved hands carrying what appeared to be a letter. He greeted his son with an imposed smile, his fingers fidgeting with the piece of paper he seemingly carried. When he walked towards Dimitri and Miss Byleth, the entire room had grown quiet, every whisper an ounce of curiosity each knight had once shown towards Dimitri and Miss Byleth suddenly going quiet. Lord Rodrigue greeted each of them with a bow of his head, then motioned for Dimitri to follow him to his father’s quarters. When Miss Byleth looked up to bid farewell to Dimitri, he realised her expression had become rather crestfallen.

“Keep that cloak safe for me, Miss Byleth,” he whispered, “I shall see you again at dinner.”

Miss Byleth chuckled and nodded, gaining a strange look from Rodrigue. The two of them walked outside of the training grounds, sparing Lady Flayn a small bow of their heads to bid her farewell. The King’s quarters were only a few steps away from the grounds, separated only by the small secret garden Dimitri had spent his childhood running around in. His father had built it during Dimitri’s childhood, to replace an old, pristine waiting room that had been there once before. King Lambert had built it hoping to turn it into a peaceful place for his new wife to spend time in—a peaceful place for Dimitri to rest in later in his life.

King Lambert stood beside the fireplace that warmed up his room with a letter in hands, his head bowed as he contemplated his thoughts with deep care. When Rodrigue announced their arrival by clearing his throat, King Lambert looked up to each of them with a small smile. 

“Mitya, my son, I’m glad Rodrigue could find you,” he breathed, but his expression soon turned into that of pure solemnity. “There’s a matter of urgency we ought to discuss.”

He handed a letter to Dimitri, the cursive handwriting of Lord Volkhard Von Arundel as discernible as that of his sister. Dimitri wasn’t a stranger to this gentleman’s letters, every piece of epistolary he had ever received from his sister was soon followed by one of Lord Arundel.

“Your uncle has written to us with utmost urgency,” King Lambert explained. “He has received the news about your possible courtship with one of these ladies, and has asked to visit Faerghus to offer insight on your engagement.”

“Were it not for the internal conflict Adrestia itself has fallen into with the imperial princess declaring war against her brother and heir, we wouldn’t suspect of Lord Arundel’s behaviour. However, we’ve come prepared against his visit.”

Dimitri tilted his head. The letter his father had offered to him now carefully been placed over his father’s bedside table. 

“We have arranged a ball since the morning—only small preparations for the moment—to welcome your uncle to the castle,” King Lambert continued. “The ball will take place within a fortnight, something small with a few lords for more money not to be spent. Felix and Sylvain should be here by then, and Lord Lonato as well. However, and I hope you can forgive me for laying this task on your shoulders, it is of utmost importance that you choose the woman you shall marry by then.”

Dimitri’s eyes widened, his hands hovering over a small crystal figurine his father always kept beside his bed. It was a silver lion, with a long shiny mane, and canines he was certain could cut glass. Though a rather simple statuette, it had been a beloved gift for the family since King Lambert’s own infancy--a present that’d been given to him by one of Faerghus’ most renowned sculptors. “Why?” Dimitri asked with a small voice.

“Because,” King Lambert let out a sigh, “we intend for you to announce your engagement towards the end of the festivity.”

The little lion statuette shattered into pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the rest of the blue lions will be introduced as the story goes, I wish to settle properly what has happened to everyone in this au where things are a bit different. 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who's been keeping up with this story, this was one of my favourite chapters to write so far <3


	4. within the kingdom walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings are held within the south as the mysterious disease continues to spread, Byleth makes her own discoveries.
> 
> CW: mentions and discussions of an epidemic, and warning for minor cindered shadows spoilers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my friends Brigid and Crystal who helped me beta-read this chapter.

A magnificent banquet was served as three noble gentlemen sat at the table. The Rowe estate glimmered under the moonlight, a household not quite as impressive as those of House Fraldarius or even House Gautier, but grand and beautiful enough to catch any lady or gentleman’s eye. Smaller lands towards the south of Faerghus had always lacked that sort of splendor, their almost arid lands always suffering from cold, but never quite as white and beautiful as those which remained closer to the capital.

Yuri Leclerc sat beside them on a cushioned chair, his bright purple eyes glinting with curiosity as his adoptive father and his guests chattered from the table. He had grown accustomed to the presence of such gentlemen and ladies, as Count Rowe was always the sort to keep his social status as high as he could will it. Yuri, however, had never been too different, his charm always the first to provoke the intimacy of the most renowned names across the kingdom. 

It was, nevertheless, the friendships his adoptive father kept, and how he conducted himself towards important lords where Yuri would digress. Count Rowe, as opposed to his handsome and cherished son, had always had a knack to be rather tactless, and any charm he could have mustered during his youth vanished as the old man grew older. He could barely hold a conversation with gentlemen he abhorred, could barely keep his features from expressing everything he thought. The man had lost all sense of persuasion, of vigor, and even judgement. His greedy hands and eyes were always reaching for whatever terrible decision had crossed his mind.

Lord Lonato had always been the most sensible of the two, the friendship—or rather, alliance that had bloomed throughout the years between them, always keeping Count Rowe on his toes. Lord Lonato was clever, gentle and firm, the sort of man Yuri highly admired. He was straightforward in his words and actions, an opposition to Yuri’s character, but a figure to learn from, regardless. He had always kept his head held high, had always been courteous when opposing higher names; but most of all, he had always stayed humble despite his titles, had remained a man his people could always count on.

It was Viscount Kleiman, however, that Yuri had always found hard to read. He was a quiet gentleman, shy even. He was the kind of man to keep his thoughts to himself, and although rather admirable after having grown up beside Count Rowe, Yuri found the gentleman to be insufferable. It was perhaps that silence alone that unnerved Yuri, the way his bright green eyes would gleam with a certain delight each time Yuri’s foster father would stumble upon his words.

That evening, however, the viscount had spoken louder than Yuri had heard him.

The three gentlemen discussed the matter at hand, the major issue that continued to plague the kingdom—or at the very least, the southern lands. Word had spread around of the numerous cases that increased with each day. Yuri had learned a word from a gentleman he had held in high regard of how soon the disease was reaching Charon, how the people rebelled against their leader begging him for bread and justice. There was little known to how the disease had begun in the first place, theories of how it was a rare ailment—an illness never seen before, but was as deadly as one that had consumed a noble lady who had once accompanied the halls of Castle Fhirdiad.

The three gentlemen whispered the information they had gathered from each of their lands, how many people had fallen ill in only a short matter of time. Many losses were heard of daily, women screaming in horror upon discovering strange, dark lines forming throughout their bodies. Many had feared they would die sooner were they unable to feed themselves to facilitate their health, others feared they should lose the little money they kept should they get the disease. Yuri’s mother had assured him of her safety, but with each passing day he feared he would lose her to the unknown.

“It is with sorrow that I must tell you of the loss of Miss Brodeur, who passed under this illness by the past week,” Lord Lonato mumbled, his gaze shifting down to his hands. He had left his plate half full, always uncertain how much he should take for himself before sharing the rest with the servants or the young boys at the stables. “We would have never imagined the disease would reach the Gaspard capital so soon, and I’m afraid we aren’t quite prepared for what’s coming. Were it not for the urgency with which the king had written to me, I’m afraid my son wouldn’t have allowed me to join you gentlemen this evening.”

Count Rowe nodded his head uncertainly, his mouth full of pork. “Yes, yes,” he concurred. “We have suffered many losses here as well. From little villages to smaller towns surrounding the capital. Though, Goddess bless us, it had not quite reached this active land. I only fear for those merchants who travel everywhere around.”

Viscount Kleiman placed his glass of wine over the table, the clicking sound sending a shrill through Yuri’s body. He glared at the old man. “I wonder what makes the disease travel at such a pace,” he hissed, his voice as crisp as the wind that surrounded them outside. “Is it viral? Does it come from the food or the water, and if such is the case, what animal are we to blame?”

Yuri stood up from his seat, the glass of wine his foster father had laid down on the table suddenly coming to rest in his hands. He took a sip of the drink before he promptly laid it down. “If you are so concerned for the people, and this ailment being viral, perhaps you shouldn’t have reunited here and place us all at risk. Who knows how long it shall take for the disease to reach the capital, if it hasn’t done so already.”

Count Rowe glared at him, his hands hovering over to take the glass of wine from his hands. Yuri could tell just how much he could unnerve the old man with a single word, sometimes even a single look. The older Count Rowe grew, the more exasperated he became, Yuri’s behavior becoming a growing problem over the years. 

Yuri noticed from the corner of his eyes how the room had gone silent, the commonly solemn expression of Lord Lonato falling with shame. He stared down at his own hands, his fingers fidgeting with nervousness. It had almost made Yuri regret his words, were it not for the cynical smile that had grown across the viscount’s lips. 

“So, my dearest gentlemen,” the viscount interjected, his deep voice breaking into the uncomfortable silence Yuri had brought. “I hope you have now become acquainted with the news from Fhirdiad, for it is a matter I dearly wish to discuss.”

Count Rowe chuckled, the fork in his hands stirring loudly against his plate as he resumed his meal. “The king must be desperate if he thinks marrying the crown prince to the church will solve all his problems.”

Lord Lonato took a sip of his drink uncertainly, his eyes shifting to Yuri for a brief, gentle moment. “I’m not quite certain I trust this idea. How should we know if the church has us in their best interests? If they truly cared for us, surely they would have sent more money to aid us and this kingdom. Why should they wait until the prince is eligible for marriage to do so?”

Yuri had moved towards the corner of the room, his back resting against the dark walls. There were hardly any chandeliers decorating the room, only a few candlesticks spread around the table. It was a design choice, a preference from the old man that had precedented Yuri’s foster father. He was a strange gentleman, the kind to enjoy night stories and superstitions. He believed in the unnatural, in the life beyond, and had once in a thunderous night attempted to bring his late wife back. Yuri found the idea of the newly appointed Count Rowe to never install more candlelights in honor of a dead man rather abhorrent.

“Perhaps the church too seeks for something in return,” Yuri interjected. “If they want a favor from us, then I’m certain we can trust them to follow along if it means they should get it. That is the intention of alliances.”

Count Rowe scoffed. “And what could the church want from us? This kingdom is in shambles!”

“Maybe they merely want a handsome young gentleman to marry,” Yuri mused. “Prince Dimitri does the job with grace, and he’s kind and thoughtful too. Besides, a secure union with the future king of Faerghus means their children will be heirs. I wouldn’t put it past Lady Rhea to seek to expand her power well into here.”

Lord Lonato shook his head, his fists clenching against the table. “Let us hope, then, that the two young women that have come to our country are clever and kind enough not to leave us at that woman’s mercy.”

The viscount was the one to scoff. “Oh, my dear friend, I’m afraid we’re past the goddess’ mercy. I’ve heard the young woman the prince has been courting, is none other than the archbishop’s granddaughter. And the daughter of Sir Jeralt, too.”

“But could that be true?”

“I’ve heard many a story, dear fellow. I believe the young woman resembles the archbishop, were anyone to have any doubt. I suppose that is why the rumors of Prince Dimitri being quite taken by her spread so quickly. Lady Rhea is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women to ever step in Fódlan. And they say this Miss Eisner is quite as severe too.”

“I tell you, my fellow friends, it would only be a matter of time before King Lambert would drag us to complete ruin,” Count Rowe said, his plate now empty. He had been listening intently to the conversation, his eyes glinting over the news of Miss Eisner being none other than the archbishop’s granddaughter. It was only a matter of time before he would claim to take the matter in his own hands. Yuri couldn’t bear to stand and watch. “To leave us at the mercy of the archbishop? Blasphemy, I tell you.”

“But what shall we do then?” Lord Lonato mumbled. “If Lady Rhea should seek to destroy the smaller of us, what shall we do?”

Viscount Kleiman pressed his lips together before he spoke again. “There is something I think we could do, before any wedding takes place here--”

Yuri walked towards the kitchens, his fists clenching and unclenching as he did his best to listen to the rest of the conversation. There were few servants remaining in the kitchen, the majority having gone already to their bedchambers to see the guests bid their farewells early in the morning. Yuri would often sneak into their chambers and leave food he would cook himself for their stomachs to be full come the morning. His adoptive father would often scold him, tell him to occupy himself with more important matters, but he couldn’t help the warmth that spread across his chest whenever the elderly servants smiled.

That night, however, he was interrupted before he had even reached the pantry—his squire having reached the rooms before Yuri had taken a step.

There was a letter in his hands, a note most likely from Yuri’s mother. He looked at Yuri with concern and agitation, his brows furrowed and his fingers fidgeting. He offered the letter to Yuri before he spoke, and when he looked towards the few young women remaining in the room, he gently asked for them to leave.

“I bear the most fearsome news, my lord,” Yuri’s squire, Liam, mumbled. “There has been an outbreak of the illness down the estate.”

Yuri’s eyes widened, his hands clenching the letter tightly. He nodded solemnly before he grabbed the bird mask he had left behind the pantry—a souvenir he had collected from his travels across the empire and Garreg Mach. Then with no other words, he left the estate to the darkness of the night.

* * *

Byleth had grown fond of the library at Castle Fhirdiad, its corridors and never-ending piles of books brightening her mornings every day. It was a habit now, to visit the library every morning after training in the early hours with the knights, and on special occasions with the prince himself. There were days where she would spend the longest at the training grounds, catching the eye of many a soldier when she crashed swords with the prince’s renowned lionguard, or when she spent a little too long laughing alongside the prince, her cousin forgotten in the corner of the room.

Flayn, however, didn’t mind the absence of attention. Though certainly more amiable than Byleth herself, Flayn had become fond of a few knights, always finding a moment to sneak with them through the many halls around the castle to chat about subjects Byleth hardly ever understood. They would walk through the gardens together, share moments where they would braid each other’s hair. Flayn had grown rather close to a young woman by the name of Aibreann—a beautiful young knight, and one of Prince Dimitri’s lionguards.

They were sitting somewhere behind Byleth, their voices hushed as they filtered through the library. Byleth couldn’t quite tell what had caught their attention, what made them giggle so softly behind shelves—but she didn’t mind. There was a large book laying before her, and a map she had every intention of studying. Byleth had never known much about the sacred mountains, or the weapons they produced, let alone the family that had once inhabited. But intended to learn thoroughly.

The map was altogether too confusing, lines that led towards unknown places spread around like the most indistinguishable treasure map. She noticed, from the corner of her eye, small letters spreading around each line, leading nowhere—showing nothing. It was an intricate mystery, that much she couldn’t deny, a code meant for only a few to decipher, perhaps only for the family line. She kept the book beside her, searching for any meaning to the map behind her, when a few whispers followed the hall behind the library.

She had barely eyed a small paragraph on the Blue Aetherius, and its significance to the era of King Loog, when she promptly closed the book to follow. It wasn’t often that she would leave so suddenly to pursue a person—not since the morning she had found Prince Dimitri making his way throughout the city. But the letters she had found throughout her guest room were leaving much for her to consider. Neither of them were complete. There were bits and pieces that had been scrapped down, burnt out, or had faded over time. But Byleth was certain of one thing: they had all come from one forgotten human being.

King Lambert and Lord Rodrigue hurriedly made their way throughout the castle’s halls, their voices barely audible by the untrained ear. Byleth had noticed the crease that had grown through King Lambert’s forehead, the incessant worry over his kingdom and everything that had fallen through it adding him a few more years. Lord Rodrigue, however, was far more even-tempered, his worry, although unmistakably there, was better hidden than that of his noble companion. They were a fine pair, that was certain, two perfect opposites coming together to keep peace through a country that barely had any. Byleth had wondered on more than one occasion what were they like when they were younger—what they were like with other friends among them, like the Margrave Gautier or the lord of Galatea, but King Lambert had proven himself far more difficult to read than his son; far more cautious when around Flayn and Byleth.

There were very few occasions when they had interacted, the king always excusing himself with one thing or another. Though the royal family was accustomed to having dinner with their beloved guests, King Lambert usually kept quiet unless he made inquiries over Byleth and her family, Prince Dimitri often interjecting to ask questions of his own. It hadn’t fallen to blind eyes how attentive the young prince was to his guest, let alone the king himself, who would often watch Byleth carefully—quietly assessing her. He would often prod about her father, her last name not unknown to a family as his. She could almost tell her father’s name was close from slipping from the king’s lips, his own attentiveness keeping him from it. They wanted to read through her, learn her true intentions before the prince made a wrong move; but keep enough of their distance, before Byleth could read them too.

Byleth was very well versed with the situation that had befallen Faerghus, the news of a disease spreading throughout the south quickly reaching the long walls of Garreg Mach. Lady Rhea, although secretive in her own intentions, had no issue with keeping Byleth informed with every event that would arise through Fódlan. Whether it was the internal conflict in Adrestia, or the Leicester leader who had left to follow his crown in Almyra, Byleth had heard of it all. She had a particular fondness for Faerghus, however, being the land from which her father had been born. And upon receiving a letter that had cited Flayn to visit, Byleth had jumped to follow her too.

She had heard plenty of rumours upon her arrival to the monastery, stories about the poverty that had befallen Faerghus ever since King Lambert’s reign. The Central Church would often send them large sums of money, hoping to make amends, but none of that money seemed to reach them, not to the seeming eyes. Seteth had first been opposed, had thought the entire idea too absurd to be considered, but his mind was set as soon as Flayn laid down her intentions to go, her yearning for traveling as strong as Byleth’s. It took only a week for the two young women to settle down and prepare for their departure.

King Lambert, however, was more uncertain about each of his moves, his words always hesitant, his movements lethargic. His voice had become strained, his hands hovering over the crease in his forehead as he spoke with more fatigue in his voice.

“I’m uncertain what should we do about the risings,” he mumbled, his bright blue eyes lost of any glow. “There has been another rising in the west of Charon, people demanding a cure for the disease that only spreads more rapidly. They deem their leader incapable, and me by consequence. Yuri has written no letters offering any kind of hint as to what this disease might be. I’m afraid that if we don’t act soon, we shall--”

“Lambert,” Lord Rodrigue interjected, his hand hovering over the king’s forearm. It was a gentle exchange, the kind that made Byleth turn her eyes away to offer them privacy. She had seen those kinds of displays of affection before, passing knights who would hide behind the bushes at Garreg Mach, nuns who would exchange kisses behind the shelves at the library. Byleth hadn’t been entirely new to those sorts of acts, willing to exchange a kiss or two with young gentlemen and ladies she encountered through her travels; but she still couldn’t quite hide the surprise at seeing something she wasn’t supposed to see. “You ought to take a deep breath. We will find a solution, I know we will.”

King Lambert sighed loudly, defeated. Byleth could hear their footsteps carry on throughout the hall as they made their way towards the throne room, visitors no doubt awaiting their arrival. Byleth made up her mind to follow them, to see who it was that awaited them, when the king spoke again. “I do not wish to leave all of this in Dimitri’s shoulders. It seems that everything we make do seems to point at him taking charge of the situation. There’s enough bitterness in mind at the thought of him being unable to marry to his wishes.”

“He’s old enough to be king now, Lambert.”

The king laughed bitterly. “Yes, I suppose he is.”

Byleth continued to follow them through the long corridor, remaining quiet and stealthy so as not to startle the two. She had grown accustomed to the quiet of the castle. There were certain areas that were more raucous, like the training grounds, and on occasions the gardens and the dining hall; but for the most part, she found it was all rather tranquil, few people passing through the halls as she made her way throughout the day. She supposed it was perhaps the size of the castle itself. How many people would it take to crowd each grand room, each passage if not the entire city’s population?

The king and duke continued their path without hearing a noise. Their voices, although still exchanging few words, had gathered a more peaceful tone. Byleth hid behind bushes, large vases that contained the flowers that decorated the castle, so much as not to throw away her position to the men she had followed. She kept her distance from them, careful not to let them see her from the corner of their eyes, and in plenty an occasion, she lost their sight. She had memorised some pathways, the rooms she would be led to, but there were certain corridors and passageways she was still unacquainted with, as were the corridors in the right wing that led towards the throne room.

Living in Garreg Mach had taught Byleth all about passageways and hidden places. It was a custom for grand castles and monasteries to have these little venues; areas where kings and queens would hide away were any danger there to befall them—areas where they could stay at peace keeping their most treasured secrets. Byleth had been to plenty of those when she lived in the monastery, passageways where she would hide from her grandmother and read until her eyelids fluttered closed, the weariness of the day catching up to her. She, however, had never stumbled upon one of these during her stay in Castle Fhirdiad, and it was with utter joy that she made her way throughout its darkened walls.

Byleth had always been a most curious creature, always crouching through small places to follow little animals, always climbing the largest trees merely to look at the flowers and fruits that fell from it. Her father had complained about it in plenty an occasion, always making comments about how she should be more cautious when exploring, how dangerous so many places could be. 

The secret passageway didn’t seem to have much in it, the walls barely visible in all the darkness, the path a mystery as much as that in the map she had studied earlier. With a flick of her hand she made a spell for fire to light up her way, if only for a moment, and gazed at a long staircase that stood before her, a loud gasp barely audible some feet away from her. She ran towards the noise frantically, curious to see who could possibly be found in such a place, when her back stumbled upon the broad chest of a much taller man.

Prince Dimitri stood before her, his hands hovering over her arms, his eyes widened in surprise. There was a glint of panic shining through his now darkened eyes, and Byleth almost giggled at the sight, were it not for the bubble of suspicion that was forming at the back of her mind.

“Miss Byleth, what a pleasure it is to see you again today,” he said nervously, a hand running to the back of his neck. “I didn’t think I could find you in such a place. Please allow me to guide you outside of these halls. The day is so beautiful outside, why don’t we take a walk throughout the gardens? I’m certain you’ll find the gardenias to be of your pleasure.”

Byleth reluctantly took the arm he had offered to her, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. She had never seen the young prince act quite like this, and his nerves were getting to her. She allowed him to guide her outside of the passageway, the light of the late morning almost blinding them. She couldn’t help but notice the gentle way in which the prince’s arms shook as he carefully led her back through the castle halls, how he seemed to almost stammer, as he often did with his words.

The gardens that separated the east and west wings of the castle were some of her favourites. Gardenias, roses and even tulips blossomed throughout each path, vibrant colours glimmering under the sun. It almost reminded her of the greenhouse at Garreg Mach, how some of the most beautiful flowers would bloom around in summer, curious petals and species she had never seen before under the care of the most skillful gardeners. It was true that Byleth was ever so fond of such delicacies, and the fact that it hadn’t escaped from the prince how much she cared for the flowers rather touched her; but regardless of it, she still looked up at him reluctantly.

“I hope you have been well, Dimitri,” she said curtly, her eyes roaming around the tulips they were passing by. “I can’t imagine all the pressure you must be under with all the preparations for the ball.”

Prince Dimitri gulped, his other hand twitching at the hem of his tunic. “I have been rather well, thank you. All the battle advice you have given me as of late has proven quite useful, I’m afraid Glenn shall soon find me unforgivable,” he said softly, his eyes shifting away from her. “As for the ball, I’m afraid I have been of little use, other than exchanging letters with a few of my friends. Are you one for dancing, Miss Byleth?”

“I’m afraid it’s not my specialty, but I can handle a dance or two were it needed,” she responded. She locked eyes with him for a moment and noticed the sudden pink that had coloured his cheeks. The weather was undoubtedly warmer that day, a rather strange sight from all she had seen of Faerghus, but she wondered for a moment if perhaps he was still ashamed after she had found him. “Are you fond of dancing, Dimitri? I’m certain you’re looking forward to an event such as this.”

Dimitri shook his head, embarrassed. “Quite the contrary, actually. I almost dread it...” He trailed off, then moved to stand before her. He hesitated for a moment, his hands hovering over her arms before he quickly shied away, the colour in his cheeks still ever present. “My mother was rather strict when she taught me the waltz, my sister as well. I suppose I carry rather unpleasant memories with it altogether.”

“Your mother?” Byleth asked innocently. “I thought she passed when you were of a very young age. I wasn’t aware she had lived long enough for you to have a sister. Pardon me if this brings rather unpleasant memories, but has she passed as well?”

Dimitri looked to the floor then, a frown forming upon his face. It wasn’t often that Byleth found such an expression in his face, his eyes often glinting with curiosity, his lips often formed in a cordial smile. For a moment, Byleth almost regretted having spoken, guilt piercing through her chest when she noticed his once fidgety hands dropping to his sides. But then his lips parted to speak.

“I had a stepmother, when I was slightly older. She passed away some years ago, and she had a daughter of her own,” he explained shortly, his words concise. 

“I see,” Byleth responded, her voice trailing off. “Pardon me if I’ve overstepped in my attempt to hold a conversation. I did not mean to cause you any pain.”

Dimitri shook his head, a small smile forming on his face. He once again offered his arm for Byleth to take, and they continued to stroll throughout the gardens, the brilliant sun casting a gentle light on their faces. It suited him, she supposed, such brightness and warmth—a perfect match with his soft smile. 

“There’s nothing to forgive. I can hardly blame you for your curiosity,” he said gently. “And to be true, I do enjoy talking about her, for I don’t have the chance to do it often. My sister hardly has the time to answer my letters as of late, and my father, he--”

The two of them halted from their stroll, a group of beautiful young ladies coming across their way. Byleth noticed a much older gentleman among them, the infamous Duke Rufus, who although rather polite and kind as his older brother, had not made up his name from lies. They stared at Dimitri and Byleth with curiosity, giggles erupting from left to right. One of them had stared down at their interlocked arms, fingers pointing with few discretion, manners suited for a lady altogether lacking.

The small group dispersed away, Duke Rufus leading them to his chambers with an apologetic face. Byleth could hardly make up the words she heard from the distance, trying to distinguish the many whispers they would throw away regarding herself and Dimitri. She was well aware of the plenty of gossip that surrounded the two; had heard knights whisper about her being the future queen, ladies-in-waiting mention how Prince Dimitri would often gaze at her with a certain affection they had never seen from him before. These young ladies, however, had brought up the name of a Lady Patricia, and King Lambert by consequence.

Byleth tried to walk in their direction, tried to listen with more proper attention, when she accidentally stumbled upon a rock, a large hand quickly coming to gently pull from her waist before she fell further onto the floor. She closed her eyes, embarrassed, and listened closely as another burst of giggles fell across the room. This time, Duke Rufus accompanied them too.

“Just another foreigner in the kingdom,” Duke Rufus murmured, barely audible. “Just another Áine and Patricia.”

Dimitri’s hand pressed at her side tighter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the slight delay in the new chapter, I worked on another little fic you can find on my profile, and I settled back into school (which has been a bit stressful). However, normal schedule will continue from here forward, so no worries.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who continues to read this fic!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you stay to see the way the story continues to unfurl!


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